The Definition of Perfect

Her laugh is so melodious, a siren song, crashing ships and stealing hearts. She's stolen my heart. Yet you can't steal something that's already yours. Her body is a mystery, one for the history books. Her lips, so pink and kissable, taunt me like a schoolboy. She is a goddess, a true Aphrodite, a creature of immense and unexplainable beauty. Yet beautiful is an insult. She is not beautiful. She is a work of art, a true Picasso. In her eyes, I see infinity. I see stars. I see the Devil himself. What I do not see, is her. She wears a mask. She hides herself from others like a frightened puppy in a thunderstorm. And yet, she could not be any more perfect. Perfect. You look up the word perfect in the dictionary, and you will see her face. Perfect. Perfect dark brown curls, curls darker than my soul. Perfect. Perfect smile, a smile so killer it deserves twenty-five to life in the local prison. Perfect. When I see her, I'm a deer caught in headlights. I'm frozen, turned to ice, turned to stone. Her beauty could stun Medusa. When she smiles at me, I see Heaven. I talk with God like he's an old friend. And when she says my name, I melt like the wicked witch, and fall deeper...and deeper...and deeper...