If I held your hand for a moment
Venice would not sink any quicker.
If I nibbled your lips
As if sampling a strange, sweet and succulent fruit
The stars will not drop from the sky
Extinguished like cigarettes flicked into the gutter.

If I told you how ancient civilisations
Would immortalise your beauty in bronze
And adorn their temples with your likeness
The clocks would not grind to a halt.
If I asked you about your favourite book
The library would not burn down.

If I packed you a picnic
And invited you to pick wildflowers
Winter would not arrive early
And freeze the meadows dead-white.
If I declared you the belle of the British Isles
Your derision would not wither your beauty.

If I was not afflicted
With an agonising shyness
Like the slow lingering extinction of myself
I could look you in the face
Without being blinded by your radiance
Or struck dumb.