The petals of the rose
are but cutting thorns.
As I pause to ponder
the caress of your skin.
As it embraces mine
Whence we touch.

The symphony of motion
in a monarchs passing.
Is but a cumbersome
violation of tranquil space.
In the memory of your
movements around me.

The brilliance of purest gold
and aurora of precious gems.
A dulled by comparison
to the slightest whimsical hint
of a smile coursing
its way across your lips.

The shimmering liquid pools
of the windows to your mind
Speak the unversed truths.
These are the things I remember
As i Think of you
As I do often.