A poets muse is what you are,
A dream, from any distance near or far,
You are the shiver that runs down my spine,
Makes me feel alive, yet drunk with wine.
Those doe like brown eyes,
Like a shimmer of fire flies,
That cute nose,
As delicate as the petals of Rose.
Those luscious lips, sigh what do I say
They make my eyes always stray,
Cause to look at them is in itself a sin,
To kiss them, the ultimate win.
That gentle curve of your neck,
Makes me want to lean down and give a small peck,
The perfume you dab on it,
Makes any man loose his wit.
Your beautiful hair, cascading down your body in gentle spills,
Like a meandering river through the hills,
The way you just shine up the room,
All sadness your frolic laugh exhumes.
Those soft hands of yours, so delicate to touch,
I still remember the times, I have held them in a clutch,
With the heart beating madly at a mere brush,
I am awash with goosepimples, while my blood rush.
I hate that you are so beautiful, within and without,
For you catch the eyes of every guy, no doubt,
Hoping to sway your heart in their favour,
from strangers to even your next door neighbour.
I can go on and on, talk about you and how you are,
But at the moment you are like a distant star,
One I can see, wish and dream about,
But the dream, I wish to touch, without a doubt.
