Every finger brushing skin
Like the soft glide of paint on canvas
Every sigh or moan, a melody,
To which we will dance,
And I will find my muse along your curve

In your eyes I read a poem, No…
An epic to rival Odysseus and Romeo who died for Juliet
The blue of an ocean far more vast
Much brighter light through yonder window to your heart
That will guide me through it well

Alike to the rest of living,
We will be a work of art
The world may gawk, and sneer and jeer at us
Squint their eyes at our shape or colours
But they will feel that we are beautiful
We will know that this is right