11/??/00

On paper we write thought and detail,
The plans we don't want to fail.
But on a page can I truely express,
How much I desire your tender caress.

No more than words they are, you see,
But each of them, a part of me.
Struggling to show what is happening,
It's in a way, that can't mean a thing.

Your eyes will never set sight on this,
Yet I'm stuck in such wonderful bliss.
Above, beyond, that's what you are,
Perhaps you left to stay so far.

Should I follow what my heart knows,
Or act out what publicly shows.
Questions of you is all that remains,
My fears of answers brings me these pains.