Bed of Proses.

xii.

Louvre

She is your favorite masterpiece,
Among the works of any artists,
You loved all the details of her face,
Enchanted by her drowsing, lovely gaze,
Your hands move like brushes with paint,
Across her dimensions of void and space,
From her night time hair to her rosy lips,
Across the barren lands through her fingertips,

She's your Mona Lisa of your starry nights,
The morning star reigning above the heights,
Her eyes are precious jewels gods cannot provide,
Angelic face bring anyone in great delight,
Carries a heart wanting to be color,
A masterpiece longing for your Louvre.