The Perfect Girl
Maybe I will have to wait through aeons
to find her, to find the perfect girl
whose feelings reach out to me
softer than the fluttering of any butterfly
whose voice is crystal clear with an own loveliness
and at times she dwells in my dreams
walking at times covered in a white cloak
with slim feet and pearly white toes.
I have heard her sweet laughter
falling softly as snow
but covering me in a kind of warmth
that delights, that at times are amusing
at other times brings sheer tranquillity
and if she’s human or something of the divine
I do not really know
only that she is beyond beautiful
One night suddenly she appeared
in another kind of dream
looked straight at me through her veil
her countenance had pure perfection
a kind of untouched innocence
but it was a sheer mystery
as her gaze had a kind of lust, a kind of longing
and it was clear that she know men
probably had made love to many of them
and as she lifted her veil
her eyes were the colour of the sea
but were ever changing in their hue
they were sometimes green, sometimes grey
and at times blue
Her hair was almost onyx black
and streamed down lustrous
streamed down right to her waist
glittering in a blue-black hue
and I was almost thunder struck
as she stepped out of her cloak
and I saw her sublime body
in every perfect line
the contours of her magnificent breasts,
her sleek belly
with its triangular thatch of dark hair
and she looked somewhat ethereal,
sublimely serene
and lovely beyond words
and it felt if I had waited my whole life
just to see her face
with its dimples, her narrow straight nose,
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poem by Gert Strydom
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