Photographer: Eric Burkhanaev
A thought placed off in wander,
beauty in the eyes of ponder.
Where everything may be only surreal,
morning, the name of sex appeal.
Where grayish eyes look distantly,
and soft features hold tranquility.
So a spell of verse is spun,
ever gently carefully hung…
in the air upon a whispered dream,
painted upon skin of cream.
Caressed by locks of fallen fire,
the muse of the poets’ desire.
The words have crafted the tale,
for loveliness to prevail.