I'm not too sure if I can compare your existence to the dandelion that blossomed in the crack of the old paved parking lot or the tone of your voice to Beethoven's Piano Concerto No.5. And I'm not too sure if I can compare your hair to the coat of a Fennec Fox or the mane of a White Lion.
Comparing your eyes to the color of my walls puts a shame to the confinement of my room. The brightest shades of blue in Turkish Tiles could not measure up to the color of your eyes. The tallest of towers even seem small compared to the height of your shoulders and the comfort of your touch.
Nothing measures up or down to the actuality of the situation. A sense of disgrace embraces inanimate objects, as if they could feel an emotion at all. Even the most exotic of animals do not seem rare enough. So I'm not sure if I can compare you to anything.