I wanted to write
a poem for her
but this proved itself to be
a complicated task. 
Not because I can't
think of the words,
because there are
far too many words to use;
too many things to talk about:
The way her hair swings
and sways when she laughs,
as the fireworks go off
in her eyes
or
how the sun follows her command,
shining when she smiles,
hiding when she's sad,
raining when she cries.
The sun sings for her
like she sings for me.
I want to write about
her body
sleek and demanding,
dancing with me and 
glowing as we gaze
at each other
never wanting our eyes to split
because we are caught
in a trance of
enigmatic emotion.

But I know
that no words I own
would be the
right words for you,
because if a picture's worth
1,000 words,
you, my love,
must be an art

museum.