The way a candle weaves its light through darkness.
How a snowflake trickles down from heaven above.
A virtuoso plucking guitar strings masterfully.
Your glamorous eyes, delicate face, memorizing body.
You sing an enchanting song, full of zealous love, and I cannot help but lose the breath from my lungs.
The fireflies dance and twinkle with grace, yet they are put to shame by your marvelous beauty. Each twinkle of the stars is a testament to their jealousy of your resplendent soul.
This must truly be an angelic dream!
Your voice carries across the air smoothly, eloquently, serenading my unworthy ears. Would you reward my boldness if I were to trace your lips with mine?
Take my weak hand and dance with me. Dance with me under the fairytale night. Step by step, hand in hand, unlock the fortune of this tragic heart. Hold this tragic heart. Love this tragic heart.
You are full of grace, a bewitching vivacity in the recesses of your heart, deeply entrenched and guarded. It is why I admire you from afar. Why these words spill from me to this page. Because of you.
Sprezzatura is an Italian word, and one I fell in love with immediately after knowing it basically means gracefully without effort. So, I wrote this poem for someone who has much Sprezzatura. Definition is in parentheses. I hope it's accurate. Haha!
(A certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it. An easy facility in accomplishing difficult actions which hides the conscious effort that went into them.)
