I Am Your Compact

She looked at me and smiled.

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Is it possible for a compact case

to fall in love?

I gazed at her total beauty.

“You look awesome, dear.” I could
feel her body heat as she drew me
near to her face. I longed to kiss
her soft red lips. Eyes closed now,
might I steal a tender — she rubs
her eye shadow as I gaze at her
hair and ears.

Still a kiss is a kiss.

She closes the lid and walks away
from the dresser. Darkness.

I have watched, as a youth, you
fumbled through your Mom’s purse until
like magic, precious grubby little
fingers seized me.

Mom’s treasured possession, again,
for the day – yours.

I’m excited, as I imagine our day
together. you – unlike your mom,
gratefully leave me open.

This allows me to view the world
outside, with the great sky, radiant
and so blue; sunshine so gallantly
yellow-white and true.

If I could escape forever into the
world beyond, who might choose me as
their betrothed, as near to face, as
any loved one;

I shudder to think of places I might
end, with mirror cracked, powder
gone – except for the edges; my
usefulness; is over I am quite done.

A sudden lurch frees me from my dismal
imaginative wade thru misery; my
usefulness far from over as my mistress
enjoys her beauty and finery.

Should this not be, as I see most
often curvaceous lips, turned into
playful puckers; as we prepare to jaunt
into the city – a place of excitement
and fun or for some, a place where we
intrigued the truckers.

I have heard, but not witnessed where
great Queens hold me in high regard,
as even the dollar store sells my kin.
I am again one in all who enjoys such
beauty; my rewards are measured in your
use of me to perform my duty.

Sights I often see, such marvels of
beauty, lips so beautiful and in
multitudes of colors, hues and stuff,
from sensuous gloss to stark black
semi-gloss cuties;

so much of what I am ensured success,
facing a world where some actually
gauge looks as a measure, should
release the old paradigm of how the
World measures beauty.

Only those of limited human scope
would allow a panel to exercise
judgments of a woman’s beauty – I know
where from her beauty begins from the
very moment when she dons the mantle
of womanhood, thus it is, and ever shall be.

Her swell of her face to where her
mouth – matters not if her lips are
thin or full, soft not firm, or whether
natural swell towards the smile, or the
right events must actuate upturned beauty.
This will generate the path to true beauty.

Pursed or slightly parted desirous in their
element, rain – moist, tender and soft;
snow – dry, mostly turned in and sheltered,
or possessing a gentle blue hue.

Dampened by pool, pond, lake or ocean you
face and mouth are works of serene beauty.

My task is to show you, and in turn help you
realize the honor of your true attractiveness
and the reality of what you may become,
or of who you are.

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The Dream

The dream is to be treasured,
more than gold, of secrets
and places where anything goes.

Valuable more than diamonds,
guarded more than pearls,
Sheiks would sell their Kingdoms
to live forever within those worlds.

They come to us unbidden by idea
or by chance, within their hidden
beauty lies terror or romance.

We can fly from planet to planet
or scale the most dangerous of
peaks; we can become all things
beautiful no matter our physique.

We can be light as feathers, as
we barely touch the ground, within
the dream our name can be Odin or
What Ever, perhaps Even A. Round.

With some terror, upon the ledge
we stand as suddenly and without
warning. Under bright skies toward
dark dreams rapid fire on mark as
time flashes by from night to
morning.

Dare say we stand by our own
graves as we grieve alone in
mourning; or make joyous
gurgling when we see ourselves
aborning.

Having graduated at the top of
our class, so esteemed and of
noble parentage be. We after
Oxford, Cambridge or MIT;
a hermit decide to be.

Dreams carry us beyond the stars
past Nebula’s and honorable
little Pluto’s gravitational
pull. I should know, I have
stood upon its small face so
elegant and tiny a place where
starlight is the only light and
night is the only companion.

Dreams launch me into the vast
depths of sea and ocean blues.
I have traversed the great depths
where the pressures are frightening
while learning to converse with a
Mermaid who speaks only Greek or
Latin. She showed me her greatest
treasure which was a pair of
women’s waterlogged shoes.

She spoke of dreams as a dry
lander being when her legs were
instantly revealed; tried on
the shoes a perfect fit as I
smiled and wedding bells pealed.

Immediately, I stood in the
desert where I searched for
lost treasure, where life and
death were granted freely
each with equal measure.

She was there again my
Mermaid beauty as though her
place must near sand;
gains not withstanding, a
space craft came to land.

We hastily boarded as a fire
breathing Dragon dove, hissing
as it missed. We hit the boosters
and swoosh were quick lifters
seeking a safe view from orbit.

She was so close I stole a
small kiss from her cheek,
she turned and kissed my lips
in Ernest who magically appeared
a former friend I held dear;
though I don’t recall ever having
a friend named Ernest.

His lips were soft too and of
a sensuous blue hue, that I
kissed him sincerely in return
which prompted us to land back
in the desert and I yelled we
best run, as a dragon was due
any moment.