Second Rule

"Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath..."

But here I am
Carving your image into paper
Weaving your tapestry
Constructing a monument to your glory
Yet I know not what to say

Do I ramble on endlessly about the perfect color and feel of your skin?
Shall I describe your gentle touch and how it brings me comfort and heartache?
Maybe I'll speak of your eyes, their beauty, and how I fall to pieces when they look upon me.
Or might I mention the curves of your physique? Or more so, profanely explain how we dance in my mind?
Your name ripples the air as it escapes the tongue and brings ecstasy to the wind and all who are able to hear.
Your voice has never belonged to an angel. It is yours and yours alone, strong and magnificent.
Though I know you are no goddess, the form you possess is greater than any statue erected in their names.
All the praise that brings honor to you could fill a battle field of heart broken suitors, and there could never be build a pedestal high enough for you to view all the fallen.

There are too many aspects. Too many characteristics. Far too many amazing thoughts of an idealistic you. In these words you are absolute. You are perfect.

But are you content with such flattery, or would you rather hear a heart craved from honesty and truth? Would you rather know the tongue of a man, and not that of a serpent, a poet? Will you allow these letters to be raised an effigy that will hang bare then burned in your name? Or would you rather know how these eyes see you? How these hands touch you? How this heart knows you?

Well allow me to strip the world bear of it's expectations of romances and spoken work. Grant me the ability to destroy the dreams of those who would use artistic value to pray upon the hearts of lovers. Hear this and hear this well, for blunt is an instrument, sincerity is an a lost art, and you...well...

You're pretty damn awesome.