A Matchless Mite

My love looms still in your room, a carousel billowing in boundless bloom, watch it like the dew distil before dawn; in a dream of passion before roses yawn. My love commits one common crime, it steals through your blind at bedtime, with smiles so bright from dusky skies; leaving the rainbow glued to your eyes. This is more than a dream, feel it, like the Icycles in Autumn, see it; crystal clear, written in black and white, not to be measured though a tender mite.