There will never be enough words for you.
Probably that’s why I keep trying.
But what you mean to me is a swell of feeling, something I don’t know how to find voice for.
Not all the way.
You ask me for an explanation, for reason, for words when they don’t exist.
I am pleonastic, skin covered in scrawled ink,
But I can’t give you what you want,
Can’t give you something that is swimming so large inside me.
Because what I feel for you is more than me, more than I have ever had contained within me before.
I love you like you’re mine.