Like a painting

I stared at her
like she was a painting;
as if I had all day and night
to drink in each and every
sublime curve and contour
of her exquisite grace.

She briefly gazed at me
as if I was a painting
that she didn't have the time for.
For me an eternity of ecstasy.
For her an incidental passing glance.

How much worldly fortune
if I could, would i offer,
for one more fleeting glimpse
of her exquisite grace ?

I wonder if I did possess
a painting half as beautiful as she,
would I settle for this work of art,
to worship and admire
for as long as i should like.

Or would I freely give this up
for one more moment's sight
of her exquisite grace.