You asked me once to tell you,
“What is it that you like about me?”
I stare at those words on the screen,
How do I bend the frail fragments,
The consensual madness of language,
To express a concept that no mere,
Linguistic vessel can convey?
Your eyes, whereby I can live.
Your hair, whereby I am tangled.
Your lips, whereby I drown.
Your presence – captivating.
Even when we do not speak for days,
You are with me, imprinted upon the mind,
Woven into the soul and seared upon the heart.
You ask, as if there were a choice,
“What is it that you like about me?”
That I am the dominant one,
and yet I am bound fast.
