Waxing poetic, I conjure
The image of your face
Only to find
My pen has no words.
How do you capture a dream?
Greater poets than me have
Failed to convey
Far simpler ideas and lived
Blissful in their ignorance.
I should be so lucky.
Start with the lips,
I say,
Whose warm touch and
Tender generosity are
More than I deserve.
Perhaps the eyes that
Saw me with
Love and tenderness
When
No one else would look.
No,
It’s in
The ears that listen.
No, it’s
In the cheeks that smile.
When do the parts equal
More than the whole?
When
Words have no meaning
A face can know.