Inept

I could write a thousand words and still fail to capture your absolute beauty. A thousand verses of sublime rhyme and fall short of the intent of my love for you. A thousand dreams in the glittering of stars, all is nought to where you take me. And the love song that I write would only emulate the beating of this heart, a long slow pulse of absence. I take the hand of my muse in thought and feeling, ever to caress that day when I first said I loved you.