My Woman (happy birthday)
The personification of sheer beauty lies in the configuration of her dear self, the epoch of divine creation.
She can be only echoed in the tranquility of trickles in a waterfall,
only shadowed in the incredibility of a perfectly tone sunset,
only faintly bestowed by the intricately shown twinkles before the morning call.
I sense her in every sensual texture, I taste her in every tantalizing devour;
her scent is in every inhaled encounter, even the power of my spirit is stimulated by her very cantor.
Her reflection I find is always intertwined with this blessed addiction found in more places than my mind.
How can I express to her that which goes beyond expression?
What can I compare her to in the entire selection of this earthly lair?
How can I compare that which is most fair?
The answer I find in this trying situation can only be she, the epoch of divine creation.
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