God loves a trinity.
A triad structure..
A newfound stability..
A maturity of purpose.
A refinement of voice..
All for an ear
that keenly hears
my crooked rhymes..
and rhymy riddles
in the noise.

I loved them all,
And love them still,
And always will until my death..
The third, however, is quite special..
She is a beauty
unlike any other that I’ve met.
She has an innocence and purity of heart.
She is the most surprised to hear..
That in my eyes she is a living work of art.
A blinded beauty for a blinded hermit..
The Poet knows..
nobody else is quite as eligible
to deserve it.

My lovely muse is oh.. so.. special.
Ohh.. she goes by many names.
Because the breadth of beauty,
latent in her core, demands for justice
through a multitude of frames..
She is my pretty flower..
She is my stormy deep..
She is my morning star..
She is my faithful leap.
She is my hesitating
until it’s nearly far too late..
She is my scales, my weigher,
and my weight.

Nobody else beheld her beauty quite like me..
Nobody else was ever
quite as zealous and committed..
To opening her eyes.. to mirroring her beauty..
Just so she could see..
That she is perfect just the way she is.
That in her presence,
in the warmth of her embrace..
Is where I find my deepest..
holiest.. bliss.