You are life and love,
The sunrise and the sunset.
You are light on the earth
And the heavens.
You are the goddess of the angels
And the truth of beauty.

However, you are not the shine on my car,
The plane in the sky,
Or the ship in the water.
And you are certainly not the gunpowder in my chamber.
There is just no way you are the gunpowder in my chamber.

It is possible that you are the pie on the windowsill,
Maybe even the badge on the soldier’s uniform,
But you are not even close
To being the moon lit ocean.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
That you are neither the dandelions in spring
Nor the snow dancing to the ground in winter.

It might interest you to know,
Speaking of the beauty known as yourself,
That I am the face of simplicity.

I also happen to be the asteroid.
The sun at rest during the night
And the puppy on the edge of the bed.

I am also the belt.
The ant on top of the hill.
But don’t worry, I’m not the wish of a shooting star

You are still the wish of a shooting star.
You will always be the wish of a shooting star,
Not to mention the legs and-somehow-the pants.