Hafsa

If I could speak for a minute
or two; I couldn't cover half
the beauty. An hour seems
longer, true, but it too is
insufficient for me.
No, I would need a thousand
days and nights: weekday,
weekend, consumed on sight.
Writing in darkness by
candlelight, never stopping
for pain, serious or slight,
so that one day I might
tell all of the world "Yes,
this poem is about a girl!"

Her lips curl with a knowing
smirk, hair flows gold
and brown over caramel
skin softer than silk -
there are simply none of
her ilk. Her eyes gleam
depthless
promise
eternal
hope
and milk chocolate.
That delightful Lima-strut
is so elegant, so intelligent.

Refined, refine, she is
Meta-Divine.

Words could fail me,
I could stutter, but
there's not a syllable
I need to utter.
Just take one look
and you will mutter
"what a smile, and lips,
such big brown eyes!"
Yes, you my friends will
too realise, that she is
simply beauty personified.