Desire of a lady

She is a body

Yet she carries a soul.

Men know her only

Through the curve of her form,

Touch only the surface,

Never the purest part within.

All hunt her shell,

Praise her fleeting beauty,

While her soul remains untouched,

Radiant, immaculate,

A light so pure

It could awaken yours,

Kindle the eternal flame

Of never-ending spiritual love.

She knows

Every man is dying inside,

Chasing shadows of flesh.

Still she waits,

Patient, apart from her own body,

Dwelling already in the realm of spirit,

For the one rare soul

Who will seek her there,

Her true mate.

But her vigil ends in flames,

On the pyre her body burns,

Her deepest longing unspoken,

Unmet. No man ever learned

The language of her soul.