My bright morning star i call her
Whose beauty i liken to the midsummer sun in Antartica
Hair strands sway in its lustre with the wind
Like two mating partners in the furnace of passion
Lush brows with the length of a coastline
Lashes with an allure that belittles the peacock
And those eyes posses a depth
Beyond the steepest of valleys
Its colour; the sparkling blue of the carribean waters
Your gaze stills all lookers like medusa
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The fullness of your lips enchants the art of sorcery itself
It would one greater than michelangelo
One more skilled than leonardo Da Vinci
To imitate the form of those lips in a canvas
The garden of eden bows in reverence
To the blissful sight of your bosom
Twin weapons capable of dividing nations
Your bosom i name, my spring of milk and honey
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Neck-deep in majestic splendor, kings beg to suckle from it
You are blessed with a waist
That makes arabian bellydancers appear obese
Standing on legs that stretches for decades
Speaking of lenght in measure of time
Shaped as if sculpted by the hands of the finest craftsmen in the days of old
Moving with the grace of elves
The beauty i see never sets on the horizon