The colors of your hair
burnt and tarnished brown
wrapped up in curls and tendrils
like oak branches twisted in a crown

My gaze I could not hinder
the vitality in your stare
heavy durable and textured
I'm irrevocably hooked and snared

The shades of your skin
flush rustic patterns dance
smooth but rugged finish
the mere possibility of a chance

If only once to touch and finger
through your oak branch hair
to brush against the oaken leather
exposed skin left out and bare

Across an expanse I can admire
in a small fleeting instance
As the light shifts your colors
worshiping forever from a distance