She.

I didn’t think it possible to write the poem
that would bear your name.
such a task seemed… insurmountable
with a woman such as you.
All the words I know…
the words my life has taught me-
my vernacular
seemed insufficient to touch upon the things
you’ve brought to me:
laid at my feet
and gave to me of yourself.
As I approach the task-
of you, in words… my words-
my limited vocabulary
is incapacitating
like I have run out of red just as
I approach the canvas to paint you.
I find myself unexpectedly sullen.
For you,
and the greatness therein,
have hovered above me like
so many angels before
and a descriptor for your light
will elude me most certainly
when I go to call on it in your song.
This is what I know to be true:
that one day
in the not so distant past
you looked upon me with eyes of love
& spread over me like a blanket
warming me with your smile
and your words
and those eyes that dance
when they gaze into mine.
Nothing is more cruel than this:
being left,
verbless,
when I have so much to say about you.
I wonder if I am putting too much importance
on the number and quality
of words I use
when all of this boils down
to one, simple, fact:
you change my everything.