Th’art amply gifted!
Upon thy cranium is cloth divine, painted with the richest oils by hands of peerless dexterity, bequeathing the world such a marvelous sight to behold! Yours is Beauty beyond compare. Pulchritude unequalled, that even the proud sun and the jealous moon are brought to their knees in awe, adoration and adulation.
What is the head without its chiseled form? It is but a shapeless rock deprived of purpose and glory. And yet within is infinite potential for beauty and utility.
The canvas that so delicately sits upon your skull is a testament to that potential, the paragon of human attractiveness – a standard to which artisans can only dream to measure against. And yet they will try. They will try to reach the sky, to claw their way to the heavens with haphazard wings made of wax, steel and the feathers of the dead. Ultimately, however, all will fail. For mortal hands can never capture nor match what has been molded by the hands of God.
You are Galataea to my mortal affection.
You were born of the deftness that eluded Hephaestus, the true archetype of Aphrodite’s allure.
