That beautiful

Sir, I don't think it was the alcohol. You see, sir, I didn't think I would bat an eyelid when I was to see her tonight. Yes, I know she's beautiful. But, no, I didn't think I'd feel any more than I already should.

Sir, you should have seen her tonight! She was a sight to behold! The way she moved, the way she spoke! The way she looked as if she was troubled. Troubled enough for me to want to ask her if she was alright, if she was tired, and almost if I could help.

But sir, you know how it is with women as beautiful and fragile as she. She'd have men by the dozen asking her the same things, worshipping her the same way, looking at her the way I do. Sir, you know I don't want to be like any of the others.

Oh, sir, you should've seen what she wore tonight, and how it made her more beautiful than I've seen. If you were to have seen her, sir, nothing else would matter in this world.

I know, sir. I know you'll tell me what I'm doing is wrong. You'll tell me, sir, that my actions will make everything go awry.

But why, sir, do you let me catch even the slightest glimpse of her, when you know I will desire her when I am not supposed to? What are you trying to tell me, sir?

Sir, you should have seen her tonight. She was beauty personified. She didn't walk, she glided.

And sir, she spoke to me, sir. Did you have that planned as well, sir? And sir, while she spoke, I have to tell you, sir, that I touched her. Was I supposed to have done that, sir?

But sir, now that you've let me see her in this light, now that you've let her speak to me, now that you've let me touch her, I beg you humbly please, to let me see her again, and again.

Till my heart's content, sir, whenever that will be.