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Poem

Upon the world's palettes no artist will mix
The vibrant hues of our rainbow, as only my heart can do,
No one will paint you in the prismatic colors of pure love,
Nor write odes of passion with ink of late nights, moon-inspired.
Like me, no one will carve out of time a shimmering mountain,
Where each facet reflects an era traversed by our love,
And no one with the string of celestial voices will sing the song of your sapphire gaze,
Nor portray in notes the music of your eyes mirroring the starry ocean of my soul.
You are a dream, etherically dressed in the moon's silk veils,
And I, stand mute with adoration before the piece of art, shaped by divine hands,
I ask you, do you feel how boundlessly I carry you in my vast love,
Which would, without hesitation, surrender and offer for you the entire glistening of this cosmos?
No one else would keep the starry sky in their heart only for you,
Nor could they yearn for your dawns like the sun yearns for the morning light,
Nor could they plant within you the sweet caresses of the summer breeze,
Watching them grow and blossom into playful whispers, garlands of fondness.
Only in my eternal guidance will you find meaning in the stormy night,
Alone I will offer you the refuge, the light of the lighthouse breaking through the darkness,
And in my arms, you will find moments of ecstasy, flares of emotion,
A carnival of colors, the revelry of muted fireworks against the firmament, our love.

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