Beauty is a Conker

Beauty is a conker, fallen from a tree, brought to you by your darling, simple, with a sheen.

Beauty is a duckling, gracefull, clumsy, new, it follows her most promptly, in the sunny dew.

Beauty is the morning, when there's nothing more to dread, it comes and goes so slowly, white from gold from red.

Beauty is the feeling, of ecstacy and past, when everything was fucked up then fixed itself at last.

Beauty is the death, of something so disgusting, the thing that took your innocence and hid it in the dustbin.

Beauty is the doorbell of someone, something there, You have waited for so patiently, now to answer it is a dare.

Beauty is the sea, on a clear blue and sexy day, when nothing really matters, except the position that you lay.

Beauty is the clouds, the sky and all it's content, the way it watches knowingly, the way it makes us really want it.

Beauty is the sunset, the friends all smoking to it, waiting for the darkness so they can all get to it.

Beauty is the fact, that a person can be happy, just by living, loving, hating, fucking, making others happy.

Beauty is the person, you look at eye to eye, you want to share everything with them, until you beautifully die.