I've always said that
I'll give you anything you want.
What I wouldn't say is I'll climb
a mountain for you,
or catch a grenade for you
because that has been overdone
and frankly, nobody really does that.

What I can do, what I promise to do is:
when your bones are down with the flu
and your head feels weighted with dumb-bells,
I'll warm up my mom's secret chicken broth,
bring it up to you on that thin brown plastic tray
and patiently feed you until the sparkle
in your eyes return.

When you're cold and shivering
I'll take off my shirt and pants
and shoes and socks
and slide beside you on the bed
and let my body heat diffuse through
all the tiny pores of my skin to yours.
I'll share with you until my body thermometer
reads minus five degrees Celsius.

And when you meet moments of laughter,
of joy or great excitement,
I promise I'll hop onto a three legged stool
and do my crazy funny dance with you.
But I can't say all of these things in the split
of a second, when I'm lost your eyes.
That's why I sum it all up and say
I love you.