I breathe you now, though at such a distance, I’m unsure how.
I can stand as close as possible, yet never take in your scent.
You could stink for all I know.
The very sight of you, blinding, as though looking at the sun.
I can see you clearly, but never know the color of your hair.
No painting, not matter how neat, could capture such unruly magnificence.
You have the voice of perfection.