Porcelain

The perfect glass smile,
Complimented by an intricate fan to extenuate,
The beauty in her dagger filled eyes,
To describe her elegance in words is to exasperate,
The nuances of language and the strength of my tongue,
But to gaze upon such a form so pristine,
I would brave a thousands dangers to count myself among,
The thrall of admirers that throw themselves at her feet,
Alas, to consort with a man of the looming mountains,
Would be the highest scandal for a woman of the gentle valleys,
Yet still, for one kiss I would beseech a thousand pardons,
To her prestigious pure-blood heritage coveted by her honorable family,
Alas, that fate decrees my hand be fused to my pen,
And m mechanical legs scurry,
For as much as my heart yearns to gaze upon her again,
I am confined to my prison of strict nationality.