The Ultimate Love Poem by Nikhil Parekh

My eyes were a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this gargantuan planet could read them; could explicitly decipher the emotions in their impeccable whites,
But the ultimate impression on their moistened periphery; was the immortal image of your Omnipotently blessed life.

My lips were a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this fathomless planet could read them; could fecklessly frolic and insurmountably tantalize them,
But the ultimate kiss on their rubicund contours; was the unconquerably truthful imprint of your altruistically peerless life.

My palms were a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this gigantic planet could read them; could joyously trace the sensuous folds of succulent skin curled delectably within,
But the ultimate destiny on their humble trajectory; was every perennially fructifying moment of your philanthropically symbiotic life.

My shoulders were a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this limitless planet could read them; could uninhibitedly perch upon them to give holistic reprieve to their pathetically exhausted legs,
But the ultimate strength on their obeisant bones; was the unequivocally blazing tenacity of your righteously emollient life.

My perspiration was a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this tireless planet could read it; could joyously splash it towards the regale curtains of emerald sky,
But the ultimate fragrance in its gregarious sparkle; was the benevolently persevering energy of your inexhaustibly proliferating life.

My face was a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this insuperable planet could read it; could embellish it with the jewels and paraphernalia of their choice,
But the ultimate smile on its innocuously unfettered exteriors; was the victoriously effulgent stride of your timelessly endowing life.

My skin was a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this endless planet could read it; could salaciously make it a nimble prey of their rapaciously uncontrollable desire,
But the ultimate sensation on its diminutively wrinkled persona; was the indomitably untamed enchantment of your spell bindingly artistic and surreally titillating life.

My shadow was a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this ever-pervading planet could read it; could feast in its gloriously mollifying tranquility to shield the blistering rays of the unsparing afternoon Sun,
But the ultimate euphoria on its inscrutably elongated silhouette; were the infinite shades of tirelessly benign freshness of your marvelously aristocratic life.
My conscience and breath were a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this unstoppable planet could read them; could bask in the glory of their divinely
unadulterated exhilaration for an infinite more lifetimes,
But the ultimate signature on their quintessential fabric; was the symbiotically humanitarian bonding of your pristinely unassailable life.

And my heart was a wholeheartedly open book; anyone on this countless planet could read it; could surreptitiously pilfer its passion to delightfully ignite their every salaciously impoverished night,
But the ultimate love on each of its unnervingly ardent beats; was the impregnably Godly breath of your panoramically perpetual life.