I redefine the word.
I twist and shape it until it means,
the curve of your back against my hand,
And the sugary brown touch of skin against my own.
I will make it bring to mind
The defiant curl of ebon locks,
Set against the supple smoothness of your face,
Ending at the fullness of soft lips.
It will not be an alabaster coquette,
Nor a simpering milky skinned maid,
It will mean instead your night kissed skin,
And the truculent temerity of your dark brown eyes.
I will create it anew.
It will be born of your insistent breath,
And the furor of your heartbeat,
It will race against your warm blood,
Which houses the memory of others so like you.
You will be the word,
You have tamed it with your cool civility,
Even as it flaunted your graces so openly.
Its brazenness still fails to capture,
Your complex intensity and symmetry.
Beauty is thy name,
For no other comes as close,
Displays so tellingly,
What you truly are.