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Beauty has a way of ever explaining itself. 
Should we praise it, should we ask of it or should we analyse it. 
It seems every act that one takes is read in a contra thought by beauty herself. 
Which route to take? My eyes have seen, and my heart is touched. 
I boldly praise her. Kill me if you will.

I selfless appreciate your beauty, it’s set apart as a smell of fine, rare, expensive quality perfume. 
That scent that is uniquely you. 
I have committed a sin in praise of her, I say kill me if you will.