You are poetry.

When I look at the stars on your face
and my sky is summed up in your look,
I conclude that you are the poetry
that represents my sun and my moon,
and that your special shine
is hanging from the ceiling of my room.

Your figure is a stunning garden
where there are flowers of all kinds,
and your little hands are tender fans
that blow in wonderful forms
and only placidity they find.

Your voice is equal to verses of the soul
with harmonious beats of your heart
and if I describe you, definitely,
you are the prettiest poetry of love.