you rival the sunlight

it bounces off your skin

as though it knows it has 

no right to linger on your

beauty; a delicately chiseled form

that no museum could contain. 

 

My sky-blue darling, 

your eyes reach beyond 

all the vast desert canopy 

the deep pacific ocean,

it's sacrilege to even compare.

 

My marble angel,

your skin is purer than 

ageless statues, raised high

as pinnacles of art; I could

praise you longer than all

those masters and histories 

combined. 

 

Now I must believe that

there are no gods, because

if there were, my dearest, 

they would have struck you

down long ago, in a cacophony

of divine jealousy.