She does not understand
how beautiful she is to me. 
She does not see her
the way I see her.

The mirror shows her
only age and flaws,
Her focus drawn to visions 
of self consciousness.

She is not flawless in my eyes;
She is not a vision of perfection; 
She is much more real than ideal,
making her no less exquisite.

She blushes beneath my gaze.
Her skin colors as her heart races.
She does not understand why,
but she does understand that I do.

With a predatory stare
I convey just how I see her.
With a low growl or a moan
she senses my hunger for her.

She does not understand 
the heat I feel in her presence;
the desire to devour her body
in my intimate embrace.

She only understands
that in my arms she feels
she is the most beautiful 
woman in someone's world.