A heart’s a heart, that much is true,
(Though feeling’s domain of the mind)
My heart knows one, that one is you.
(My mind regrets the need for rhyme)
Your sweep of hair, like a sand dune,
(Or, literally, keratin)
Your face a slender slice of moon.
(Methinks not of grey, for certain.)
Your features, though stoic as stone,
(Not literally, naturally)
Still call to my eyes to find them as home
(Mine eyes are skullbound eternally)
Your style is that of an empress,
(Ignoring the falling cost of dyes)
You always elect the perfect dress.
(In a primal sense, they catch the eye)
Though heart and mind have battled here
(Only, though, metaphorically)
They are joined in passion, it does appear
(That, I think, is taken literally.)