Voice like supple silk
that rises and falls
like the mellifluous sounds
of sand-fused waves,
stripped of judgment,
bare and candid,
as though it were made
of pearlescent clouds,
gleaming in the air
and absorbing my breath,
leaving me only a shell
with a conflicted smile,
pained by the pangs
of unreturned debts,
of unpaid dues,
of long glances
and untouched skin.

Gaze like a palliative stroke
that brushes against my face
and washes over my pores,
chills my bones to their core,
morphs my heart into a butterfly,
glides across my flesh
and heats it slowly,
shifts my attention not toward the stare,
but toward myself,
or, for that matter,
my bleeding lips.

Smile like unsullied sweetness
that glimmers like diamonds,
rubies, emeralds,
a purity like no other,
unexperienced by most;
it shines like pearls,
gleams like a tentative embrace
and it melts me like ice,
shakes me like time,
grasps me like simple moments
that fade with life's frown,
that crawl back to their nests,
hoping to wake soon.

These things, these little
qualities, are not destined for
a scheduled end, or a common finish;
they are not made or fashioned
by selfish desire or avarice.
They are made, no, crafted
by you and your
beautiful persona,
your gracious intent,
your soft-spoken words
that make the world
tremble in awe,
make humanity kneel
in admiration, in placid veneration,
make you sing like
an uncaged bird freshly freed,
laugh like a newborn just kissed,
cry like an adult just moved.

These facets are just words, yes,
but they're simply what make you
so magnificent and true.