My thoughts do not do you justice,
The art from pencil and paint;
Pictures that are taken so often,
The resemblance ever so faint.

Your hands, chiseled and even,
Strong and textured just right;
Could not compare to such attempts,
To feel all this with mere sight.

The looks, the glances, the expressions
You use to show such thoughts;
Could never be expressed as well
With simple lines, smudges, and dots.

Your words, promising the world,
Who would ever hear the devotion?
Only looking at the form of the words?
Oh, how funny! What a notion!

And your presence, safe and reassuring,
Would not give one such affect;
If you were to be miles away,
Nor would you more expect?

For would I have cause to tremble,
If you were not standing so near?
If you were not so endearingly close,
With breathe from whispers landing to trifle my ear?