My fingers itch, pacing, they dream of controlling the pen.
My tongue flicks impatiently, waiting for the words to roll off.
My heart beats to give my soul music to dance too.

...But somehow, I can't write you...

Your eyes, mirrors that reflect my every flaw in perfect light.
Your hands, a glue to hold me together when my shattered shards shiver
Your arms, a majestic Oak, to hold me close and cover me with a childhood hope and wonderment.

...But somehow, I can't write you...

Your heart, an unattainable magic not to be held by porous people like me.
Your legs, tall towers which block the sun from ever kissing my skin
Your stomach, a graveyard of hope from all the lovers that went before me

...But somehow, I can't write you...