Many words have been spoken to you:
I love you. I hate you. I want you. I want you to leave me alone. You’re wonderful. You’re hurtful. You’re true and false. The list goes on as do the owners of the words. The men who have held your hand and walk you through experience. Some short, some long. Now add my name. For here are my words:
You’re a miracle. You’re the eye of the storm. You’re the smell of honey to a bee swarm. You’re Helen of Troy. You’re a young boy’s dream. You’re the feel of a win to a losing team. You’re paradise. You’re a bucket of gold in 1849. You’re that first sip of an exquisite wine. You’re a hole in one on a par five. You’re a light to a Cuban cigar. You’re that first drive in a brand new car. You’re an ambassador of Beauty. You’re a fire amongst frost. You’re the North Star to someone lost. You’re a goddess. You’re food to the poor. You’re a band-aid laid over an open sore. You’re Joan of Arc. You’re a dive in a pool on a summer day. You’re the truth behind “everything will be OK”.
You’re a verse from the bible. You’re a happy shout. You’re a flashlight when the lights go out. You’re a revolution. You’re a poster above someone’s bed. You’re the majority of thought inside my head. You’re a lake in the desert. You’re the antidote to a snake bite. You’re the knock-out blow in the first round of a fight. You’re Queen Elizabeth. You’re a poet’s ink. You’re what makes philosophers think. You’re the birth of Venus. You’re remnants of a fallen angel. You’re the warmth of lovers’ limbs tangled.
You’re god’s magnum opus. You’re the chemistry of candy on a kid’s tongue. You’re the burn of nicotine to a smoker’s lungs. You’re Juliet. You’re the relief of stillness after an earthquake. You’re the joy that sorrounds a birthday cake. You’re Magdalene. You’re the sight sore I seek. You’re the feeling of lips on a lonely cheek. You’re inspiration. You glow.
And I want you to know that to me you are ideal. Perfect. Surreal. And to you, my love, I will always kneel.