My woman is not mine.  She belongs to herself.
She is weightless; made of gravity, beauty.
Light waves bow.

She is a prism, a pyramid... the shape that a god would make her.
There is an island she has been.
There is a star that she'll become.
At night, she absorbs the surrounds, radiating, adorning my presence.  
She gets me.
I grow in her garden, she waters me with love
My woman...

She's natural, organic... without all the packaging.
No fluff.
She has the power to stop me when I have everything to say.
She'll watch me climb a tree, or make a tree for me to climb.
Ideas are her own, her own, her own.  
Respect.
My woman...

A silent crescendo, I can hear.
Deep water tsunami, I feel her friction...
I am her shallow ground.
No buffer.
My woman...

Mountain building without plateau,
Scope in every angle, full circle, sphere...
Pyramid within.
The shape that a god would make her..
My woman...