If I did not describe my heart:
How it yearns for you;
How it quickens at every sight of you,
Every instant when I first hear your voice;
If I did not write: of how it races when you come near;
That it has skipped when you have touched me;
That it pounds with the expectation of your touch,
Every beat so hard that it shakes my body enough for you to see;
If I chose to keep the secret: of its quiet rhythm in the morning when I wake;
How long I have lain, quietly amazed as our hearts beat in perfect synchrony;
That I wondered how many minutes would pass before their rhythms diverged;
Every word withheld as I lay down my pen and lock it away with its barren white sheets;
If I swore not to describe my heart,
Would it stop beating forever?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: