Divine as a muse, spasms of love for reaching a nocturnal goddess, which with semantics and a delicate voice of deep epiphany your charm of allegory is my heart that you captivate.Voice of spring, wasteland of ellipsis made by my epigraph of synalephas just to give back the inspiration that you create in me, because hearing your voice is like being in heaven with a thousand angels playing a harmony of a flashing epic.
Mysterious like Artemis, with my grammar which is my poem; because you chained my soul and my heart to your beauty, and not even a thousand poems can describe what I feel every time I listen to your voice, my eternal star.
Delicate as a black rose, but charming as the ephemeral universe filled with stars: because your eyes are stars that shine with a thousand sparks, and our lips are something I desire every night, without any complaints.
My composition is a chorus of nymphs, written in a thousand ways and with many phonemes, just to let you know that my heart is drunk with love and it cries because you are a love I'll never have. And only at night I will dream of you, and I see you wrapping me in your arms.
My ode and couplet are the essence of your charm of muse, which through the skies filled with dew and calm, is the castle that arises when I see your face on the moon knowing that you are my deepest reason.
Quatrain and sextet is my verse that tells you that you're the most beautiful woman, the most diurnal and deep. Because my morning is an entranced illusion, however, my world wakes up every morning as soon as I hear your voice.
Sonnets and metaphors written in small verses I elude and dedicate. I describe what you mean to me to the rhythm of my writing, that with verse and epithet, I write and dedicate to you.
Death and the path are at every step I walk on, but my heft does not matter if my complaint has to stop, because you are an end that my heart will always remember, because you're a legend when I'm just a vendetta.
My acrostic is a prosody that my soul retakes. You have the most beautiful voice, and with your siren-like symphony in an ocean of loneliness, you're the guide in my culmination.
I put my soul in the hands of mercy, for thou are the desire that I praise to the sky, you are the howling and you're what I dedicate it. You're an epic, and my odyssey will be giving you these words that come from my soul sob into a sombre.
My epistle in the mist for a thousand chimeras that weep to the tell you that you're my poetry, my nostalgia and my ecstatic joy, but you're the one that remains on cold and foggy nights, with every heartbeat I hear in the unison brio that I breathe.
My vagueness is restless and diffuse, wandering the streets, gazing at the harmonies of your shadow, because you're the reason that makes an echo of archangels with overture, as well as my own dawn.
Sharon is your adage, is your sign, is your omen. And I only follow the pool, so I can tell you my history in some stanzas, because you are the rose that I want to germinate to be thus one with the eternity.
My anagram is an anthology of emotions, because you are my path, my creek and my eternal weeping, because this is the nearest I will be at your encounter, and from that moment I will be yours until the end of the time.
The antonomasia of my adoration —and perhaps of my obsession- is carried in your name, because you are the temptation. You represent the soul and the heart, and I only am your poet filled with sadness and love, because your name is the beautiful combination inside my temptation.
