When you stood still in the sunlit afternoon

Twilight
cascading through your face,
to sparkle across
pure reflection of golden seasons.

Your veins,
woven web with  crimson silk,
unflinching...

Your eyelashes,
are mines 
of hidden treasures
repose.

Seas between your lips
that yield pearls
more as you haul.

Your blazing eyes,
aiming an arrow
at the center of the poet's nerves
and nail its end
in your skies.

He who writes,
throws himself
into your feral beauty.

You put him behind a circle
that can be stretched
on your whim.