She stood, magnificent like the most high,
Her beauty would make the angels weep and cover their face in shame.
Her nightingale-ed voice serenade the auditorium and resonated like the trumpet ushering the rapture.
The praise and worship must be heavenly but her well crafted steps and hips swinging is the only heaven I could think of...
Every inch of her being screamed at me "I'm your next mistake, your nightmare costumed in a daydream".
But, unknown to her, the devil goes to church too.
We all are; but in self-righteousness, we advance reasons and carnal-lity blossoms in His house.