she left love notes

she walked the beach
and strung her pearls.
the waves moved in motion
to the moon's gravity.
the sands are countless,
matching the skyline's
infinite origin.
she blinked,
and time was made to stand still.

she left love notes
in her footprints.
each one signed
by the ball of her heel.
her face is a poem
written in epidermic tones,
so pale and exquisite,
done by the pens
of eternal ink.

she dressed herself
in soft sunlight;
a band of clouds
concealing her breasts,
and a breeze of spring
emitting from her lungs.
her string of pearls around her neck,
and cobalt waves cascading in her irises-
she has eyes of the ocean.

she has effervescent strands of hair,
like unwound twine,
in gentle shades of neutrality,
borrowed from the simplest of things.
the concave of her neck and collarbone
house the most colorful of fish
in minute ponds of collected rain water.
her slim fingers are crags from deciduous trees,
being a perch for the small finches in need of rest.

she speaks words
in syllables and certain pronunciations
that no mortal ear
has ever tuned in to.
her siblings sleep with the stars
and fly with falcons at such immense heights
that city skyscrapers only touch their hems,
which belong to cloaks
comprised of nightfall.

she directs symphonies
composed of orchestral fantasies,
reciting hymns through instrument and vocal
on the stage which introduces the heavens.
a step below the angels,
yet a step above the mortals;
she is a median of unseen perfection:
a song enunciated by the heavenly host
and by the earthen sparrows.

she's been deified,
and easily been called a deity by some,
but she's no more dissimilar
then an overly-dreamt dream,
or a thought contrived on a lonely walk
down a black and white hallway.
it's the talk of her pretentious sublimity
that builds a utopia in man's wishful mind,
later conducting him to somber, dismantled expectations.

she is my "perfect love",
but remotely stands without a name.
i think of her everyday,
but the mystery of her existence
is sadly, the only remains.
i see her in books and in stories, etc.,
but she has a waist that
my longing arms struggle
finding their way around.

she left love notes in the sand by the sea,
but truly, those love notes were not yet meant for me.