Although he knew he could not
have her,
touch her,
embrace her,
he was still madly and irrevocably
in love with her.

It did not exist,
nor was ever heard
of a greater love
than the love that he
had for her-
how he knew the right way
she should be loved,
how she should be taken care of,
held and be kissed.

The way his kisses burned
her skin with such a sweet
and tender passion;
the way it not only pleasured
her body, but her soul as well.

But she-
She soothed all of his
aches,
all of his scars.
How she were the only being
to be able to ease him
with just the sound of her voice.

And only at sunset,
that was the only
crack in the door
that he had to check
if she were doing well,
that the stars around her shined
when the clouds
hid away her broken heart.

At night when all is in silence,
suitors howled for her love,
waves crashing when they found out
that her heart was taken.
How only silence listened to her
babble about a love that she could not live.

A love that only the stars
could write about
for men to know about-
for men to learn what they have
when they have it-
for men to love and cherish
the love that they have
in their hands.

A love so beautiful.
So profound, so genuine.