From the curves of her wonderful hips,

To the hour-glass she bears in her figure.

From the height at which she stands,

To the rise in her graceful breasts.

From the softness of her lovely hands,

The dark in her skin,

The allure of her lips,

To the hope raised by her smile.

It's all about her.

From the twists in her braids,

To the dot missing from her face.

From the ring in her laugh,

To her smile when she’s pleased.

It's all about her.

From the sparkle in her eyes,

To the tinkle when she speaks.

From the rarity of her ilk,

To the angst simmering within her soul.

From my feeling she's hinged,

To my hope that she cares about me.

It's all about her.

From the force of her odes,

To the feel of her fears.

From the power in her ink,

To the strength of her verse.

From the beauty in her words,

To her silent yearn for veracious appreciation.

It's all about her.

What is it about her that remains a mystery?

Is it the uniqueness of her mind?

Or is it the passions she rouses within me?

The peace her voice brings

Or the chaos she stirs up inside me?

What is it about her?!

Is it the difference between our beliefs?

My failure to grasp her thoughts,

Her elusive shadow,

Her fleeting presence,

Or her nimble feet?

What is it about her?!!

May be it's the quiet absence

Of her desired presence.

May be it's the continual and endless waits for her,

The absence of physical rapport,

The imploding chemistry,

Or our much frictioned friendship.

May be it's the absence, of true intercourse.

In the end,

It's still, all about her.