Perhaps comparisons to you, m’ love,
will be of such fluttering birds with their
silken pearl plumage; soft and fragile dove.
I would challenge those who with this compare.

To do so would create such metaphors with
something mild and predictable, delicate.
You are not breakable or dainty, keen scythe.
You are a graceful storm to not abate.

Mayhap I could liken you to a blade,
a dagger wrapped within smooth satin.
To a deathly flower; lethal nightshade.
For to a white swan you are akin.

Know that a dove is equal your beauty,
yet you are deadly elegance, truly.