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November 28, 2010
A picture fails to capture the little things I love about you.
Invisible to the eye, except that of the artist.
Meddled with the poet's tongue, these delicate features are no longer a secret.
Exposed; for all to behold.

The golden specks, aglow in your eyes as the sunlight graces them.
The gentle arch of your neck, when you lean in for a kiss.
The soft flush of color, spreading across your cheeks as you blush.
The way your nose wrinkles every time I succeed in making you giggle.
And your giggle itself, escaping past your lips when my fingers dance across your skin.
That smile you conceal, but a secret to everyone else.
Your scent, one that envelopes me and reassures that I am where I should be; home.
The tangles in your hair, perfect yet imperfect, no doubt a work of mine.
The rose tint of your lips, natural and pure.
And the softness as well, begging for my own.
The peacefulness that emanates from your closed eyes, whether expecting a kiss or awaiting slumber.
That effortless grace and fluidity you posses, every move a captivating dance.
The soft sighs you let slip, you are aware that this is how we should be; together.
The intensity of your eyes, trying to speak to a deeper part of me.
And that intensity, mimicking my own inner thoughts and emotions.

And to think,
These simple beauties go unnoticed by all but those who dare take a second glance.
Whether it be a poet, an artist, or merely a lover.

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