"Curve Theory"

Mathematicians have their angles,
scientists their formulas,
zealots have their dogma's,
but only one theory matters:
On my knees before My Lady, I all shoulders, flanks and back,
She is all poise, glamour and elegance.
Head bowed, Her scent my oxygen.
She sits atop Her throne; my Queen
cheekbones haughty, eyes sparkle in the warm half-light,
legs crossed inches from my face, such refinement; so alluring.
I am hypnotized by the perfect curve, 
the graceful contour in front of me, sheathed in feminine silk.
Enraptured. Held fascinated. In awe,
as a tiny vein flickers rhythmically, inside ankle
and barely perceptible above Her shoe:
The pulse of my universe.
That curve of Her shin! from Her knee to Her ankle,
framed by elegant calf muscles.
Above, a dark band of silk nestles against soft, fair skin.
Below, five inches of sublime, sharp heels.
Mesmerized. Lost in wonder at Her perfection.
The way Her foot sits gracefully in the cradle of Her shoe
as She sits petite, yet statuesque, real, yet magical
in stilettos to die for; or to die under.
Heels, which lengthen her legs far enough
to drive me almost to madness.
The most beauteous shape, the perfect angle. 
The Curve.
Shiny hard blackness of Her shoe, next to smooth feminine silk
and behind, warm soft skin; The Trinity. Art. Life. Dreams.
My only belief at this moment?
"Curve Theory"
MiCamino