Her

I'm not sure what she looks like or how her skin would feel against mine. I wouldn't know her voice if I heard it, and her hair, black, blonde, or brown, is nothing that I've ever touched or held against my face. I don't know her name, and her existence, if real, is beyond anything that I've ever seen in this world. Kindness, love, understanding, fidelity, all traits of her character, and before now, they were traits that I couldn't recognize if they'd lay naked beside me in bed. I needed to be trained, broken down, molded into a man that could appreciate a woman like her. I had to be coaxed, prodded by the words, the touch, the scent of those that sought to imitate. And thankfully I've caught glimpses, oh yes, goddess flashes darting around the flesh corners of human loves. Maybe someday she'll appear before me, consider me worthy of her flesh and her soul, and by finally acknowledging her, maybe she'll stay.