thy lips damask in the daintiest rose’s hue,
thy cheeks a garden sprinkled with dews,
thy moans shake, shatter, the coldest mountain,
thy laughter, the sweetest tune.

i wonder thus try to measure thy strength;
how could a small figure, contains so much beauty,
an astute aspect that’d **** sanity for a while,
or forever, if thee attempt!

*Aug 4, 2014