Love From a Tongue Tied Lover
You lie besides me deep in sleep.
Moonlight beams light up your face.
I stare at the dark contours of your face,
your lips slightly apart, breathing softly in sleep.
I whisper in your ear, softly, kindly, sweetly:
I love you dear, you know not how much.
You stir, you sigh, and softly say:
repeat again what you've just said.
What can I do but comply
I love you dear, you know not how much.
But why is it that I am unable
to utter such endearment when you're awake?
What kind of beast am I?
Your sleepy eyes flutter wide awake,
you breathe slowly down my neck,
lips meet, arms entwine, and we become one.
Say it again you fool, I tell myself, say it again.
But I am tongue tied, mute like a broken violin.
I kiss, I hug, I love but speak not.
Indeed, what kind of beast am I?
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