What You Are

When did time start?

How does one describe a color they have not seen?

Where is heaven?

How can I invoke language to describe

Your face?

It’s one in a trillion.

It is stained glass-

fragile, radiant, and created by a being with unparalleled skill.

All I need is a glimpse to realize trying to find a woman

Who rivals how cute you are

Would be time spent in vain.

Make no mistake; when I am dazed by your presence,

my eyes do not travel downward- as you might assume.

They struggle to move past the pinnacle of your beauty:

Your hair

is an onyx crown;

shimmering bronze welded to a deep obsidian.

It outshines any precious gem.

When flaunted to the side, my legs buckle;

you’ve unveiled a pale isthmus

That I can only dream of quenching my thirst with.

A mere glimpse benumbs me.

If space had no stars, our eyes would be

consumed by black pitch;

the sense of awe we are familiar with

would be replaced by dread and despair-

For it is just us.

what is more dreary than a forest in winter?

Unending grey and brown shade the landscape

In a melancholy gloom.

Where is summer?

What catches the eye

is the lush green on a tree in the spring.

Your faith

is a star in space.

is green in winter.

How obvious your love for God is!

How rare it is to hear nothing but good about a woman;

there is nothing that can better set you apart

From the others.

If I could revise your character,

or alter your physique,

What could I hope to do?

Attempting to concoct an improved

version of you with my imagination is futile!

“A cuter woman has crossed my path.”

“Her hair does not mesmerize me.”

“She’s too tall.”

“She’s too short.”

“Why can I not instantly tell she is a disciple of God?”

No matter how many women I glance at,

no matter how many I speak with,

they all have these shortcomings that I could not find in you.

Paralysis overtakes me the instant I see your figure.

My nerves are stricken and immobilized.

The shock and awe that fills me and dumbfounds my mind

shoves aside all thoughts of lust.

No longer do I ponder if God exists, or what God’s role is.

Of the billons of men on this earth,

how many can say they have seen living, walking proof

that there is a creator?

You are a creation that cannot be improved.

You’re perfect.