The Truth About You

I wish I had the eloquence of speaking,
where words flow like the wind,
rhythmic and engaging that’s free of thinking;
then, only then, would I be able to tell you again
the truth about you:
you are poetry
that no poet could ever capture,
no matter their skill or ability.
You are the stories people have heard,
ones of the pure love of agape,
where life is better with you,
even more exquisite and breathtaking than Aphrodite.
You are the sun that lights my moon.
I am Icarus that will always soar to you
with my broken wings of melted adoration
because you are what my heart knows is true:
that I’ve belonged to you since before your creation.
I’ll be as strong as Hercules
to be your Atlas who holds the sky
so you may live longer than memories.
Because while the temporary weakens and dies,
you are as infinite as the laws of science,
set in diamond stone.
But you are also the infatuating mysteries of mermaids and giants,
which have been passed through generations, grown.
So I wish I had the eloquence of speaking
to tell the world about your beauty.
You’re the one I need,
the one to whom I give all of me.
So I’ll write until the ink runs out;
until my hand loses all feeling
because I’ll love you always and now,
my radiant, celestial being.