Jots of Beauty

Sure, your eyes are captivating and quite capable of leaving me breathless, but most would base such a description off of more aesthetic beauty. Not that your eyes are not quite deserving of the title "beautiful," but the question is longing to evade these lips, through these fingers, which cannot keep up with this train of thought: what is beauty? In a lot of cases, one would contemplate the concept of beauty and simply regurgitate every simplistic that had ever been spewed into his face -- beauty is a six-letter word for something which elicits some sort of a hormonal outburst. Well, all right, that's beauty. But beauty, which manufactures a fleeting pulse and a cold sweat -- rather addictive if not related to cardiovascular problems -- cannot possibly refer only to the select few lucky ones with the perfect symmetry and awesome genetic make-up. Arousal is not simply driven by voluptuousness or a petite skeletal frame; beauty provokes arousal both physically and mentally. What could cause the mind to produce the same feelings that a sexual sensation composes? Surely not the exterior.

Your eyes, along with every other sight-capable being's eyes, are a direct path to pure truth. Whether it be the depths of an honest statement or the disclosure of a lie, your sensational, magnificent eyes provide the directions which lead to your mind, which just so happens to be connected to your soul. The one thing that brings forth unfeigned beauty in it is that the legitimacy behind your corneas, a bit to the left of your retinas and straight past the optic nerves, is the unclouded honesty in every word that escapes your mouth.

It's strange that the utterances, forced upward and forward by involuntary systems -- starting at the brain, which sends the signals to the voice box to generate vibrations which bounce off the walls of your throat and remind the tongue to curl and touch the roof of your mouth occasionally, all in order to create a sound -- originate in the soul. What runs the brain, though? Some ulterior force, which some like to call a spirit, a soul, a consciousness. All of such are absolutely correct, and they, as a whole, form the centre of one's being which is where that alluring truthfulness, for which you are oh so famous, obtains its life. Why, though, are your eyes so much more understandable than the tone in those utterances or the fashion in which your lips move? A tone, which is yet again a result of one miniscule signal sent from the brain to the rest of the body, cannot uncover what the soul dies to eject; a tone merely follows its orders, which it takes from the brain. A tone is capable of trickery. Eyes, though, pull every emotion and every physical expression and mannerism together to fully convey the mind, which is imprisoned in that overpowering brain. One cannot hide behind his eyes, because the eyes' sole purpose is to portray what the rest of the face and body cannot; what the physical fairness cannot display, the eyes do, as a means of exposing the untouched, uncorrupted beauty which lies within.

So, your subdermal beauty, which surpasses your corporal excellence, seduces my very being. Let it be known that I am quite cognizant of the effect that your essence has on me, but your beauty, which even your captivating eyes are unable to fully release, has my inferior core under a hypnosis. The hypnosis would not succeed in enthralling me if my focus were not entirely devoted to your unearthly totality.

What is beauty? I guess that's you.