I Love You
What can I write, a mere mortal, to an angel?
What has not been written before
more eloquently than I can ever dream?
Pen in hand, I glance at you over my glasses
Older now, as we are both, yet still,
your beauty takes away my breath
and makes my heart beat faster than is safe.
You catch my stare and give a questioning smile.
That smile I saw all those years before in Nuremberg.
We both knew in that first moment
that the answer would be yes.
"You know it's rude to stare," you softly say
I'm not staring, I think; I'm soaking, basking;
in everything you radiate.
I always have, and always will.
"What are you doing?" You question
"I'm trying to write you a love poem."
"What have you written so far?"
"Just the title, I love you."
"That will do!" You say.
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