Illusion
by Camilla Curran
Perfection is illusion, a woman’s sacred art, a practice grand of sleight of hand to guard her soul and heart. Mankind’s at disadvantage, when glancing quick her way, he seeks her blood and claims her love in span of but a day.
Illusion yes, not lie or jest but simply craft and wile-she masks her flaws arouses awe with form which tempts, beguiles. Temptation is inspired, her grace seduces man, yet there she lies with open eyes, unsure, her hopes at hand.
Perfection is illusion, a lovely sacred art, a work of skill to tame man’s will while guarding bleeding heart. Mankind’s at disadvantage, so beauteous her form, yet truths untold man won’t behold if lust has gone before.
Beauty is her downfall-a loathsome, lovely plight. She yearns not for a lover, but rather love for life. Perfection is elusive, a wild, unnamed thing-dare you not embrace her unless you give her wings.
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