Your hair:
The color that baffles me to no end.
Out of the corner of my eye,
It's brown,
But then I turn.

Now, it's ashy:
Darkly-light
(Not that that oxymoron made sense).
In the sun's rays,
It's hues of golden come out to play,
Making you look almost angelic
(Even though we both know
You're anything but).

Your eyes:
Those orbs of light
That hide your smile inside of them.
I tell you that I like your glasses
Because if I don't
You won't wear them,
Even though you can't see without them.
And, yes: they are cute,
But I have to steal them from you--
Just every once in a while--
To see your intoxicating puppy-dogs
Instead of letting them hide
Behind thick, black frames.

Your mouth:
When it curves into that dopey,
Lovesick, adorable smile,
And I tell you I hate it,
I secretly don't.
And when it opens,
It's a fountain of knowledge.
Always sprouting out whatever
Is in that vast cranium of yours.
Of course, not all of it is profound,
And some of it is utterly,
Undeniably stupid.
But, other times,
You are wonderful:
Just the right thing
To make my worries melt away
And make me thing
That I don't deserve you
With all of your beauty,
Inside and out.

Your arms:
How they hold me perfectly
(When I want them to),
And how I have to swat them away
When I don't.
But it's not your fault
You haven't perfected the fine art
Of reading minds.

Your torso:
When it gets brushed the right way,
You flinch like a puppy being kicked,
Which sounds tragic,
But on you,
The look is adorable
And just a little sad.

Your legs:
Way too long for me,
They make your ego inflate
So you feel as though you can
Tease people mercilessly
About their vertical challenges.
Yet, you still can't keep up with me,
A fact that I puzzle over ceaselessly.

Your feet:
You claim they're sensitive
And you beg me not to step on them;
I do anyway,
But only when I mad,
Because I'm a girl,
And that means
I'm moody.

Yet, through all of our fights,
Even if we grow old in
Someone else's arms,
You will always be my best friend,
And I will always
Love you.