I’ve realised it too many times
Your beauty which stands out like the Mona Lisa
In a room full of other masterpieces.
A crooked smile passed through genetics,
Gorgeous blue eyes, and a cherub nose.

I’ve found myself obsessed.
You are a true work of art,
Atleast the way you describe it.
An ever changing thing in search of improvement.
However, shall never be perfect, but always perfect to me.

You are an experience. A good one at that.
The person who welcomed me and changed my life,
But you did not take over it.
A portion of my breath, and one I adore, but not my entire life.

A giggle over little things.
“While I can hardly eat muffins in an agitated state!”
A quote that remains from our Wilde night.
Though we admit to being born in the wrong times,
You are not my Mr. Darcy. Nor my Heathcliffe.
No Bronte, Shakespeare, or Victor Hugo could create a character that shows who you are to me.

You are the 3 hour break before I need before I return to my summer job.
3 hours dedicated to your car, your smile.
Full of all the best stories to tell.
You’re still the one I love though.

I’m no saint, and have never tried
Nor some God, even though that’d be rad.
I may never create the work of Davinci,
But when I’m with you there’s no better art made.
Even if the art is just silence as I sit in your arms.
Cuddled close and binge watching or observing the talents of others.

The following poem was written for a class some months ago, a challenge to rewrite a poem which I can't remember the name. However, while the source may be lost, the one who the poem is about shall be a part of my life hopefully forever. As the week this is getting published is Valentines Day, I found it appropriate. Have a happy Valentines day my readers, and make sure to remind your special ones that they are true works of art.