I Love You

What can I write, a mere mortal, to an angel? What has not been written before more eloquently than I can ever dream? Pen in hand, I glance at you over my glasses Older now, as we are both, yet still, your beauty takes away my breath and makes my heart beat faster than is safe. You catch my stare and give a questioning smile. That smile I saw all those years before in Nuremberg. We both knew in that first moment that the answer would be yes. "You know it's rude to stare," you softly say I'm not staring, I think; I'm soaking, basking; in everything you radiate. I always have, and always will. "What are you doing?" You question "I'm trying to write you a love poem." "What have you written so far?" "Just the title, I love you." "That will do!" You say.