PASSION

I scribble your description in vain, collecting mind flashes.
I throw out my unfinished painting job as if it were trashes.
No one would portray you. I tried and tried and almost faint.
You are indescribable, no matter what is the paint.
For a painter or a poet. What nature did, no way to repaint.
Perhaps more than a beautiful lady, for you it’s usual.
Much more than tenuous, amenous and so graceful.
Sometimes simple and unassuming. Loving woman.
Definitely a woman. Someone full of beauty. Just a woman.
You're the very lack of definition through human art,
shaping of perfect love and desirable sex, female owner of hearts.
Lack of alternative or mastering to define even when the artist is smart.
You are supranormal, breaking hearts with your body in figure of art.
Something not yet invented on this world.
You only exist in my fantasy from mind to words.
I'm an absurdly passionate lover, mind in movie world.
You're a protagonist star in every film I make in my world.
A world of passion. So full of passion. Only passion.
Since the first time that I saw you, you're my endlessly passion.
Since then I became a trier as writer, composer or painter of passion.