It begins with your eyes.
They are the powder that protects
Butterfly wings.
There are shapes in the known world
Recognizable to most men
Until your eyes come into the picture.
Suddenly the shapes of once baffling elements
Can’t even compare.
Blades of grass have nothing on them.
The diamond shapes of the most elegant fish
Who do not fear hooks or bait
As they glide in and out of currents
They swim freely in fresh water –
But even they are quietly jealous
Of the soft lids that caress your bronze eyes.
Your lips are in love with each other.
How could they not be?
They are fortunately pressed against one another.
Even seraphim stare in amazement
Wondering how two gentle acts of nature
Continue to blow an autumn breeze
Straight through my heart.
The serene edge of a lake
Kissing the particles of sand and tiny stones
That make people have faith
And life evolve into happiness.
Those are your lips.
They have earned the right to kiss each other
And only a pure, blue soul might have the chance
To meet with them.
Then there is the sheen of your black hair.
Renaissance painters have mixed
The blood of countless animals
Of crushed fruits and inventions
Blended into smooth, luscious dyes
Painted and smeared onto fresco walls
And still, they crush the horse hairs
Of their feeble brushes
Knowing they will never articulate
The color of it all.
Men have no idea why
They are crushed under
The fragrant air that floats from your mouth
Straight from your lungs.
The sweetness of honeysuckle
Of childhood playgrounds
And swings sets that cradle children
The way your tender arms
Hold with the comfort of the pieta.
Those men haven’t even been creative enough
To come up with a name
That describes how beautiful you are.
Still, they continue to paint.
