Mastered Pieces

Mastered pieces Making up a masterpiece.. speaking of, That hand her hand and its surface that texture a smoothness coupling a purposeful yet vague roughness not from labor but produced from hairs emerging upon her surface encapsulating her radiant warmth protecting it from the elements an element of her own certainly it must have been crafted within the cosmos that could only hope to marvel at a heaven a heaven that has a mind and eye for intrinsic value with synchronizing detail overflowing with designs even more intricate than that of the universe only a heaven, ripe with divine orchestration could compose such an architecturing of angelic skin where was I when I first laid eyes upon its color a mix of colours and the contours! where did I go, the moment...that moment...thee moment I placed my own hand atop hers that fragrance took me to a different plane it lit a thirst and a wonder like a fiery furnace so deep within and beyond my sense of what's real that I soon became high from inhaling its essence smell became virtue aura, her aura, became tattoo ambiance, her ambiance, became a light, however distant or close, but near enough to see a way throughout darkness encompassing with it a belief in possibility what did I experience, ecstasy? drifting into a world of fantasy tantalization serendipity enchantment myth and urban legend would envy her story because her lore held with it, an addictive romantic fiction all from her touch the touching the feeling the capturing of her hand its not that romance is dead or that it is unreal but that it is so real and yet it is rarely captured enough to be revered as something to be believed in so after life long soughts, can only harbor assumptions of it being fantasy all the while its mystery trailblazes journeys seeking from it, what lay unknown yet dreamed about I can never forget its texture, the grace of her feel and heat I never washed her scent from me I slept as her smell comforted me breathing in deeply, reinvigorated with every chest inflation inhaling her essence made her too real to not dream about and what I saw, what comforted me and blotted out the darkness of my environment was her hand for there was nothing more I needed to see because the whole isn't necessary in understanding the parts the parts have their own individual attributes perfuming their own identities that only enhance the whole the parts blaze all on their own as proof to 'bits' of perfection her hand, a mastered piece scribing the story of a masterpiece only written in the stars I've laid my eyes upon, listened to, inhaled and even felt the wonder of that story and the only mystery I have left to my senses, is consuming the taste of her literary better the experience or better the mystery? I'll ponder that question for a lifetime maybe its the unknowing that compliments intrigue and the knowing that compliments jade some things you just have to try wonder versus experience two concepts within a master's mind a master tries to mastermind while appraising a mastered piece of a masterpiece her hand