King Midas

I dub thee King Midas
For it all turns to gold
When graced by your touch
What a sight to behold
His presence astounds me
His countenance, grand
Beauty overflows
At every move of his hand
He is not boastful
Neither flaunty nor proud
Yet in modest perfection
He can silence a crowd
He pours forth his talent
Oh so lavishly
And I become precious
When he touches me
Each pluck is a symphony
Every brushstroke, masterpiece
And each scratch of his pen
Brings us both to our knees
No uncertainty surrounds him
Every action, tried and true
And he calls me Queen Midas
Because, he is gold too
My King, yes my Midas
You turn me to gold
When graced by your touch
I'm your sight to behold