If the moon was looking for a different place to be
If elegance were to be tuned into a 6foot frame
Dusted with specks of perfection,
Painted with mirth and glee

In par with Helen of troy,
A museum of sentient thirsts
A beautiful smile, and a dangerous curve
A counterpart to venus herself.

As calm as the ocean, named after a storm
Sprouted by a god, moneyed by a brod.
She could shred you at a glance, drown you in her sass
Tan you by her charm, burn you if she gets silky warm

Agonized and Hemmed in my own gaze
Stock-still in the shadow of her frame
Feebly waiting for an Eclipse to gain,
To be back in my senses, alive and breathing again