Hidden Talent

Her lover is reserved and cares not of the world,
His life revolving around only her
As each day she discovers something new. 
She loves his voice and its joyous song,
Its hidden beauty adored by only hers,
Its notes only matched by her amused, high squeals.
She loves his mind and the knowledge he bestows
About nonsense and trivial things
Which only she could care to know, learning his passion.
She loves the stroke of his pen or brush,
To others poor squiggles or lines; yet he is Rembrandt 
For his secret paintings of her naked frame. 
She loves his poetry on the backs of sticky notes,
Not a word nor rhyme in the couplets making sense
Yet the reasons written across both their hearts.
She loves his secrets, known only to her,
And his hidden talents the poor world
Shall never know as long as she is his own.