Your eyes are like the crescent moon

that shines brightly

and burns in the flames violently.

Your ankles are like sculptures 

carved out of sleek marble

and exhibited in the Louvre.

Your upper arms are like soggy rice cakes

that are waiting for people to eat.

Your right part of your forehead is like 

a sheer cliff

where huge pieces of basalt are rolling down,

eroded by high sea waves. 

Your cheeks are like fresh snow

that people are looking forward to seeing in December

and cool their hands sharply.

You are the vast field

where golden waves of rice ears sway,

lit by the vermilion evening sun 

in the cool breeze.

And you are a comforter 

that warms my freezing and pale toes.