For I shall enumerate my lady’s charms, although they are numberless.
For FIRSTLY she has a smile like a beam of sunlight breaking through a cloud in a medieval painting.
For SECONDLY she moves like cats and panthers and also she can stand still.
For THIRDLY she has eyes of a colour that no two people can agree on, which I remember when I close my eyes.
For FOURTHLY she laughs at my jokes, sings unconcerned on the sidewalk and gives money to buskers as a religious act.
For FIFTHLY she fucks like wildcats in thunderstorms.
For SIXTHLY her kisses are gentle.
For SEVENTHLY I would follow her or walk behind her or in front of her wherever she wished to go, and being with her would ease my mind.
For EIGHTHLY I dream of her and I am comforted.
For NINTHLY there is no one like her. Not that I’ve ever met, and I have met so many people. No-one at all.
For lastly she squeals when I say “waste-paper basket” and also in the mornings, eyebrowless and waking, she always looks so perfectly SURPRISED.
Neil Gaiman, “For Amanda, an appreciation (After Christopher Smart. Sort of)”
Neil Gaiman’s love poem to Amanda Palmer.