You exhale, and a thousand poems appear before my very eyes.
The universe will have run out of stars before they figure out what you truly are worth.
With sleepless eyes the world is unmoving, keeping close watch on your ethereal figure.
You stop time and three dimensions in succession, and leave me wondering, gawking.
The frailty is but a façade, for you are, in truth, a monument without need of any adornment.
But ever will I adore you, this I speak in silence.
No sonnet or song, neither mural nor sculpture can immortalize the glowing heart you hold.