You Are the Poem
You are the poem I always write,
The line that comes in quiet night.
You are the verse my fingers seek,
Each time my soul begins to speak.
No rhyme could ever match your sound,
No rhythm hold the joy I’ve found.
Yet still I try, with pen and heart,
To form the words you’ve torn apart.
Your smile is metaphor and flame,
Your voice—no poet dares to name.
I chase your image through my thought,
A muse that every line has caught.
I write you when the moon is low,
When only dreams begin to glow.
Each stanza drawn from how you breathe,
A poem I’ll never truly leave.
For though you change with time and day,
My verses never drift away.
You are the poem, old and new—
The language that I speak of you.