I've been searching for a metaphor
in your eyes
that does not reside there

Searching for the words
to express the beauty of your being
in a language not yet invented

You are the metaphor
You are the language

I've written poems
in your meter and rhythm
on the small cracks in my heart

No form
no structure
does justice

You are free of form
so I write to you in the freedom that you are
the freedom that you've given

There are things we cannot see
nor say
But in you, they are seen
In you, they are said

You are the direction faced when I pray
The prayer and what is prayed for

The question
and the answer

Pouring over every word
Searching for perfection
I've come to realize

I've been searching for a metaphor
In your eyes
The existence of which cannot be seen
In such a small and subtle beauty

You are the metaphor
It is in everything you are

You are the poetry
I've always wished to write.