Poem: Untitled #0

I don't know what I wouldn't give,

To know my name upon your lips,

Said as more than strangers,

If not lover,

At least as beloved.

What I wouldn't give,

To feel your fingers,

Grasp my hand,

To feel your smile,

Drip-drip-dripping into my eyes,

As I soak it in,

The first drops of blessed rain,

After a timelessly long drought.

What I wouldn't give,

To know your scent,

Of your freshly washed skin,

Of that soap you really like,

That you can't stop talking about,

Of your shampoo and your conditioner,

Still lingering in your hair,

The faint Wet Girl Smell that clings to your showered hair,

What I wouldn't give to know you,

My sweet,

To know you as you were, as you are, yes,

But most of all,

To know you as you will be,

To know you and be known,

As we grow old side by side,

And to hold you in my arms till your very last,

What I wouldn't give my love,

I do not know,

But it's a moot point,

Because I don't have much to give,

To a lady so choosey as you,

My beating heart ripped from my chest,

"May it beat for itself foremost," say you,

A pound of flesh, equal trade for the burden my presence creates,

"What greater burden could there be,"

You ask,

"Than a pound of flesh, the very icon of guilt undeserved, extracted from the one whose heart beats with my own?"

My sinew is weak and tattered my love,

My bones and marrow, hollowed and thin,

So all I have to give to you, my darling,

Is my love,

My fledgling innocent love,

Which knows no heartbreak,

Knows no malice,

Knows only you, and the light and joy you bring,

And I lament that I have naught the riches you deserve,

But you care not for such lamentation,

For you only ask now,

"What greater gift could there possibly be,"

"Than to be loved by you, my love?"