Your love does things.
Strange things;
things I can’t tell you and most I choose not to.
You make my heart swell and beat in an unfamiliar rhythm.
You make my lips stutter and my words fall clumsily from them,
before they land on scuffed shoes below my wringing hands.
I won’t compare your beauty to a rose or a setting sun,
for your beauty is not what makes me turn on heel when your laughter meets my ears.
No, it is not your beauty,
nor is it your kindness or you brilliance.
It is your love,
which makes me ache so thoroughly that I am sure my body is failing with every breath and misspent heartbeat.
Your love that fills my body with tepid hope and chilling fear,
your love that knows not of appraising blue eyes,
or swelling hearts;
your love that does strange things,
things that You won’t ever notice.