If ever I try to put words to your name,
I am hindered by a truth that should be ever clear,
That your soul in itself is the one perfect poem,
That passion’s the game we should fear.

My fingertips sweat as I seek out the words,
My mind enveloped in lust,
But my brain draws up blank every time I try,
To declare your love and trust.

Your spirit’s too grand to be tied down in words,
Nor should it be locked into verse,
How could I channel that look in your eyes?
I think this is some kind of curse.

But dare I name you, even in this?
No, that wouldn’t be right,
You know who you are, and shame if you don’t,
I love you, and goodnight.

 
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