I can't make you anything beautiful enough.
Don't you understand?
I can't make something
Say something
Think something
That will speak of beauty the way you echo in my head.
That is what pushes me to the edge of madness late at night
And forces me to sit in stillness
Frozen by the idea that
No movement that could leave my bones in tact would possibly suffice,
No song that could escape without taking my lungs with it could match the tones that rip through my soul,
No art, painted with blood or dragged from the silver tangles of my mind, could glow with the pain and passion I feel
In reflection of you.
Don't you know that to see you, even glimpses,
Even fractures images,
Is a terrible, exquisite privilege
So present, so unbearably alkce, so vast that
It cannot be contained within a single, passionate soul like mine?
It is too enormous to be intimate
And far to close to be
Simply divine.
And I shake with it,
With the power of it and the helplessness it creates within me-
A craving, never sated,
To show you what you are.
