For you

I wanted to sit under that great sycamore tree
To stay there and see and feel and breathe.
I wished to trap you there and keep you forever
For me and only me.
And there under our indulgent illusion,
Our tangible sycamore tree,
I would make love to you.

My words caress your lips,
My ideas softly touch your breasts.
All day we would explore our bodies,
And at night we would talk of things unseen and hear things far away.
For if a simple embrace can hold so many feelings,
How could words not hold so much more?
And yet so little...

To you is this poem.
For poetry is our ugly attempt at beauty,
So my words nor my eyes can capture your radiance.

Come to me
Give yourself to me
Make love to me.