Beauty not measured

Beauty's not measured

I turn the door knob and before the door pushes the stretch of air between us I hear your voice outside of the pages I had scribbled to preserve it. I hear it pass through the little opening that the door lends. Your voice was as I remembered it: gentle, promising, full of life, and accentuated with a smile. So I pause and I am sure to hear your smile before I see it. Where are the words to measure your smile?  The door opens wide and you speak. You speak and I try to bend your full-stops into a comma, make fun of the comma and you introduce new paragraphs with question marks, make fun of my answers. You speak without editing yourself and I see beauty again. And I know I lack the words to measure it? So I decide to preserve this memory in the present tense. Hopefully, a present tense that spells out ad infinitum. 

Abu A'ish Mk Albani