Sometimes I sit here late at night
And mourn that I have not seen more beautiful things.
I must go find some, soon,
For I have used every metaphor I know of
To describe you.
I've run out, as it were,
Of lovely things to use in my constant struggle to
Do you justice,
And I must not stop.
I mean, where do you go
Once you've compared someone's mind to the Universe,
Her eyes to constellations,
Her gravity to that of a black hole
And her light to the sun?
It's really quite a challenge.
And I endeavor to meet it, day by day.
I want to find new thoughts, new ways to put it,
New things to say, better things, that soar above the miles of poetry I've already wrote to you.
I must find all the beautiful things in this world,
Every strange, wonderful trick of light,
Every exquisite shadow and corner,
For I fear that time and again I'll be running out of comparisons
Long before I ever find one that truly suits you.