should be elegant, 
should evoke a physical response. 
It should incite a shiver,
from your soul to your chest. 
It should unite two lovers by their gaze,
a gentle solicitation of the senses.
It should smell like sweat an taste like rose water.

You can't compose a love poem without crippling somaesthesia.

My father’s veiled eyes do not hide anger, or contempt.
In both pride and fear he maintains a muffled expression.
And his opalescent character
crushes me,
sweetly.
My father is a man who can understand the language of gestures,
and who stands against the dark with admirable poise.
His strength holds me to this world.
When it comes his time,
I’ll lead him
safely into the fire.
with a comparable fortitude.