I tell you about
your beauty,
how you are a
stunner, a gorgeous soul;
it’s not
just a mindless waterfall
of
compliments splashing on the rocks.
It’s all
truth.
Earnest in
my adoration,
clear in my praise,
honest in my
admission,
and obviously
lustily
longing for
the same.
The eye of
the beholder,
subjective
as it is,
cannot deny how
happy it makes me
to sugar you
with heartfelt
pleasantries
of excessive flirtations.
It is
inappropriate.
It is not often
said as
well as I
would like,
but it is
true,
a truth that
burns my lips.
A stumblebum
of the tongue,
prattling on
about your
undeniable
beauty while
constantly
questioning my own
level of
deserves.
My enamored heart,
so taken
with beauty,
is caged in
ribs impervious,
it seems, to
any reciprocal
expressions.
Eyes blinded
by the finery
of physical
perfection, coupled
with a full
beating heart,
full of its
own desires, wants,
and plans
for the future.
Embarrassed
by the flattery,
the beauty
cowers in the dimness
of
commonality, scared to provoke
any further
feelings of untenable
desire.
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