Refraction.

Clovette IX

In her image,
My best work is sculpted,
As is the most potent
Blasphemy;
My insides quiver
At the thought,
But I endeavour
To resist fearing
Any other deity -
I shall put none other
Before her;
Naught could tempt me,
Persuade me, nor steal me,
Neither in the flesh, the mind,
Nor the heart.
It is her image that inspires
The artist within a mere man;
The lover within the cynic,
And thus I shall
Keep that fair silhouette
Within my mind's eye -
I shall hold her warmth,
Her love, her taste,
And what I create from that memory,
That reality,
May be the utmost praise
I could offer.
It shall never be as much
As she deserves,
Yet I will work harder still -
A fool such as myself
Could only replicate her image
Imperfectly:
No artist could truly capture
Her pulchritude,
Nor could the finest poet really describe
How soothingly, perfectly,
That familiar perfume envelops you.
It is truly strange that she allows a man
To feel safe enough to rest
Beside her,
But she leaves him wanting to
Stay awake; not to squander
Precious time.
It is an honour to see her,
A privilege to behold her poise -
Until I may write
With the elegance to do
Such a wonder justice,
I shall continue to try.
I may blaspheme every other god,
But I shall never hope
To compose
Something
That matches her splendour;
It cannot be done,
But I long to get
As close as I can.
I wish for her to know
The marvel that she is,
And for the world to know it too.
If I may preach just a fraction of her grace,
I will have done the best
Any man, even perhaps any god,
Could have ever hoped to do.