I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait is my morning sun.
I want to say a thousand, lovely, kind, and heartfelt things to you but I am not master of words.
I would tell you that you are the greatest marvel of all ages, and I should only be speaking the truth.
You have been privileged to receive every gift of beauty from nature. As beauties cease to be so when near you.
My imagination carries me to you,
I grasp you, I kiss you, I caress you. A thousand of the most amorous caresses take possession of me.
I see you as I did yesterday, beautiful, astonishingly beautiful.
But I envy every word I write for they accompany your eyes and are closer to you than I.
How should I ever prove what my heart is to you?
How will you ever see it as I feel it?