Writing a Poem

If I were to compose for you a work,
Then I would be writing eternally...
This desk would be my world; my pen, a dirk -
And I would carve you so beautifully.
As though made of marble, you are perfect;
The grooves of your body fit mine so well
(So exquisitely devoid of defect)
That there is not a way for me to tell
Just how much the feel of you on my skin
Or the sound of your voice close to my ear
Quickens my heart to a palpable din
And makes leaving your side my only fear.
Telling you simply, is all I can do,
So all you must know is that I love you.