Do not tell me
It is not love
That fills me with joy -
The sight of
Your lips
Pulling at the corners
When you break into
A smile
Even if
I am burnt out
From inside
Do not tell me
It is not love
That raises my heartbeat -
The tension
In my nerves
When your
Eyes shine
Moist and sad
Too short to notice
Yet still I do
The narrowest span
Do not tell me
It is not love
That soothes my mind -
The sound
Of your voice
A symphony
Of fresh notes,
gentle chimes
The wind bears
Them once
I perceive them thrice
A fool undoubtedly, but one out of his time
Ancient are my thoughts, yet present is my crime
If this isn't love, I don't know what is
If this isn't love, then educate me
A poem is nothing as extraordinary as the subject that inspires it. Today I'll immortalize her in these words.
Tomorrow I'll look back here when she's gone.