You told me I reminded you of a painting you once saw.
Acrylic strokes, not able to spot a single flaw.
You described
every crevice,
every edge,
every brush of colour.
I pictured a girls eyes gleaming as bright as the summer.
Shaking your head you told me to search.
Deep down you said there's more to her.
An ocean of stories having yet to be told;
a heart is the one thing that never grows old.
You went on about her left eyebrow
and the creases in her lips.
How lost she sometimes looks,
and the placement of her hips.
Imagine a girl only loved by some,
people only notice little things about her,
like the way she twiddles her thumbs.
Look at the way her collarbone curves,
I smile,
your voice telling me to give it the appreciation it deserves.