In Her Image

She is unbelievable gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman I've ever been with. Her smile is a sunburst that thawed the desperate, iron heart of a broken man. The warmth of her body is the fleeting scent of rain that greets you in spring. The warmth of her love is a euphoric high that left me roiling, sick and broken and lost without it. Her laugh guts me, taunts me, hates me, loves me. It accepted me in the wide open, played with me under the sheets, gave me purpose... still does. It's a butterfly I chase through the underbrush, flitting in and out of view. When I stop to admire the forest it flits close again, always out of reach, loving the chase. She wants the man I want to be. She is smart and works hard on her career and pushes her self to have more not for material gain but because she believes in her worth. She unveils the beauty hiding beyond the jaded lens I see through. She knows how much I love her and yet she doesn't believe it... or does she? She is the silence of the moment you realize death is no longer a threat because to die in her arms is all I could wish for.

Figuratively.