Ashli Lays There Gently

As she lays there gently, so to begins my poetry,

Spring, not to hot, not to cold, with a gentle breeze,

No, my words cant convey, nor capture, this visual rapture.

But my hand is compelled to move with pen in tow, soft and subtle,

Such as the breeze that has just lifted a firery redder than red, couple of hairs, now I stare,

Into the deepest of deep, deep green eyes.

I am lost, and no, I don't want to be found, as I try to write it all down.

If you listen close, you can hear the birds cheering one this beautiful day, but I am lost in her gaze, and all I'm trying to say.

Is she mine, am I hers?

This is neither here, nor there,

This is just one of those times where talk is unnecessary, and questions are forbidden, this is one of those time when the moment is lived in.

The grass is her mattress, she lays there gently, collecting rest,

As I am sitting back, with the notepad on my lap,

I am trying to catch the contours of her picture perfect body, but how to scribe it, doesn't come to me, there are no words for such beauty,

but its beyond her, its beyond the day, its all the variables mixed up just right, to make this heavenly sight,

If it were any other lady, or any other day, then what?.....

But my eyes have witnessed, I have been moved, my pen, paper, and hand have been wooed, as she lays there gently, I know never again, will I have such a heavenly muse.