To describe her hair is to scratch markings in sand,
only to watch grains shift and fade like words that I lack.
Raven's too dark, Midnight not true to her soul.
I refuse to settle for simply black.

To put in words the tilt of her chin,
to lay claim to her eyes' swirling blues and greens
is impossible. Better again sand meet my pen
than her face be sullied by the barest degrees.

I'd tell you of diamonds and midnight to compare her beauty,
and then think better of her- less of my words- and take it all back.
I refuse to sully her by barest degrees;
I refuse to settle for simply black.