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
bring me home
home to where you are
my heart aches
I watched you grow strong
I reached out; with my right hand,
Felt your left shoulder.
I felt you touch me,
Take hold of my left shoulder.
I still feel you there.
I heard what you said,
And watched your words fly away.
I knew you heard me.
Now my words have gone,
Wrapped in the words of others,
But not completely.
May poetess I woo thy spirit hence?
For, surely am I starving of thy words;
Or in the lack this treading represents;
Mine inspiration drowning out by thirds.
I prithee hope thy veils might be taught
If capable a student, I might thence
Command or coax the layers thou hast wrought;
And offer up the same in my defence.
Should then I hope, with verse, or even song,
To woo thy spirit hence? For once I fought
Not shame, nor thine offence; wouldst think me wrong,
Though flesh nor soul, but wordly spirit sought?
Might then my song thy wordly spirit move?
If worthy I, thy lifelong student prove.
For all I would learn
And even all I may teach,
So am I lacking.