About Love

I love you, enough to put pen to page

To wring words from my wicked brain

And deliver them, in print, to your lap.

Have I done this wrong? Does this sound all right

And do I think you’ll like it

When I write to you in small scenes. Cataloging how I feel

Your collarbones and your wrists against my lips

Your freckles and your skin, staring at you from near

Your nose, your brows, your pretty pink lips.

I know what goes in between

The fragments of my memory that melt and morph together.

At once your lips are here

Then your palms and teeth

Then it is just your tongue.

I want to stay there

At the junction of where your mind and body

The parts where we join together

The warmth under your skin and firmness of your body and.

And as I feel your touch everywhere again. All sense leaves me.

…Is it enough

To say nothing of the charm

The broadness of your affection

The rapture, attraction I feel

And for every thousand things I tease you for

There are a thousand things to love.