If my music made you sing
then I would play the whole day long,
for there is not another thing
that rings so soothing as your song.
Such a voice as you possess
may not be stringently refined
but with its gentle, sweet caress,
it chases demons from my mind.
Lips so soft and lovely
unto which you treat my eyes
scatter stormclouds from above me
to reveal a perfect sky.
The magic of your smile
sends my heart to throes of bliss;
I would climb for countless miles
for a single healing kiss.
When the world would have me cower
and throw curses to the gods,
in your gaze I find the power
to defy the bleakest odds.
Still you act like beauty comes
in only shades of green and blue,
and while this may work well for some
your own outshines the brightest hue.
If you knew, when I am down,
the warmth your eyes, upon me, shine,
you'd be as proud of their deep brown
as I am blessed to call them mine.
All my dreams reflect this shade
and every feature of your face,
and, should my vision someday fade,
my eyes would not forget your grace.
Nor could I forget the wonder,
that, to hold you in my arms,
would shake my heavens more than thunder
yet would cause me no alarm.
When I speak of your Perfection,
I don't mean you never err,
that you'll choose the right directions
and succeed without a care.
What I mean is that I cherish
every aspect of your mind,
every flavor, mild and garish,
every instinct, shrewd and blind.
I love every single layer
of your warm and soothing heart--
that which drives my constant prayer
for our souls to never part.
I love all that's normal, strange,
plus every temper and complexion,
and, as every facet changes,
so does what I call Perfection.
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