You are a sculpture, with mirrors for eyes.

The curve of your back was carved out just right.

Not made of stone and marble and jewels,

But bones and flesh and light.

You are a panther, with a slink in your walk.

Your canines glisten when you excitedly talk.

Placed in a foreign environment,

You're struggling to survive.

You are a mountain, that I hesitate to climb.

The view from the summit is worth all the time.

But I'd rather stand at the bottom, in safety,

And admire your stark allure from afar.

And I am a painter, but only in my head.

I make masterpieces out of things that you've said.

And you might never get to see it,

But you've been my best work yet.