Her beauty startled him day after day.
Her form seemingly shaped by the hands of Aphrodite herself.
Her image seared into his memory.
Her face carved into his consciousness.
Her chestnut hair usually floating across her temples,
Today flowing down behind her shoulders.
Her face often hidden behind shadow now open to the world,
Her cheekbones perfectly placed to lead your eyes towards her own.
Once you reached her glowing emeralds, there was no escape,
her regal eyes snaring the gaze of lesser men.
Her cut brows walling off all routes of escape,
the only path left bringing you down to her lips.
With his mind no longer his own,
He reached for her hand.
Her hand unwavering,
His heart beating strong as he held tightly, unwilling to release.
The rouge of her mouth captivating in its still sureness,
A readiness to speak hidden behind silent wisdom.
The richness of her voice steadied behind softer curtains,
the power of speech in reserve with firm clarity.
His curled fingers brushed against her black dress.
Her favorite dress.
The charcoal color perfectly contrasting her fiery spirit,
The fire that burned like dawn.
The courage he consumed to reach for her hand
Was nothing compared to the courage he consumed to let it go.
He watched as the casket closed,
Then only the image remained.
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