I would write of your beauty,
by Jesse Bauer
form a list of numbers
numbering the details of your perfection.
But my writing should seem a farce.
When I'm gone and my scripting aged,
fragile to the touch, yellowing with each year,
one may find this embodiment of speech.
When they read of such angelic beauty,
they shall not believe what their eyes behold.
Holding me an exagerated liar
for no one could ever have such beauty as you.
For the mind to comprehend and believe it,
is to sleep and dream of perfection.
The realization of your loveliness
is not but what would seem imagination
beyond what any could conceive awake.
So when one should find my numbered list,
it would be detailed in perfection to your figure.
Your eyes of gleam, your hair like silk,
too many things to immortalize for now.
My name shall be recognized as a dreamer,
a name that writes of imagined wonders.
Wonders of your beauty
Wonders of your complex perfection.
If only they could know what I have seen,
they would know that your beauty is real.