Fine Arts

I am earth capable of becoming pregnant of beauty, Though my boyfriend is at an infinite distance from me, I wonder when and how he touched and made me pretty, I am looking at a poet, who has stolen fragrance from me. When the ancient light decomposed in the rainbows, Everyone who has a heart stole a few exciting colors, I know it's you peeping out through the windows, But I am not like others I am a thief of your odors, For my desired theft I do not need to touch you, Don't look for me in the crowd of your sweethearts, So soft and delicate you are how can I clutch you, I have stolen your fragrance and put it in the fine arts.