What is beauty,

What is beauty? I’m not quite sure,
Maybe it’s because I'm quite demure.

The old cliché is hair like silk,
However I don’t wish to lump you with an ilk.

Eyes like oceans, skin like snow,
That’s usually how the poems go.

The other important thing is soul,
And that’s the thing that makes you whole.

Until I met you I just felt spent,
But now I’m happily content.

None of this matters because what’s true,
Is that in the end, beauty is you.