Indescribable Lover

Indescribable Lover

If I could write a poem
for every time I fell in love with you,
well, my dear, I'd be unable to
fill my room or more,
for I am unable to stop.

But this is where my problem
comes in, you see.
For I am unable to create the perfect
piece, the one that tells the truth.
All are a lie.

No words could truly describe
the amount of love my heart holds;
They all fall shamèdly short.
I feel like a thief,
stealing words that are not right
to describe a love too great.

I could describe your eyes as
a resting place, a healing place, for
my wounded and weak soul.
But, alas! This would not do well!
It would not so fit!

I could describe your smile as
what makes my day its absolute best.
But this would only cause
mockery to the curvature of your lips,
and so woe to me.

What do I do?
How do I handle such an issue?
Do I remain silent,
and let that speak for me,
or do I make do with what I have?

Such is the great anguish
of a poet like myself!
We are made to tell, to describe:
but, with you, I cannot!

Why must you be so extraordinary,
so absolutely incomparable to anything or thought, past or present?
Why must you amaze me and
astound me, captivate me
as only you can?

I will continue to write
until I've found a fit.
It's a mission probably fruitless,
but there must be one
word that describes you well enough!
And I, an explorer, will find it.