I love you

Isn’t the poem I want to write.

Its what I want to say

With the pump of valves.

Its not the sense that lips convey,

Its what lips wish to show in every word,

Touch of skin, every kiss.

I love you

Isn’t a expression

Its the only impression needed.

Its not told, only felt in bursts that

Feel like tiny infinities

Chain-linked across your spirit.

You are not a slave to love.

I love you

Is the willing admission,

Its the confession.

Allowing yourself to be caught, to catch another.

To chose to be a servant.

I love you

Isn’t a statement.

It is the statement

That makes you more than you have been.