Were I to write especially for you

Admitting emotions, far before they're due

Were I to feel a longing for your touch

Confessing my sin of wanting it too much

 

A noteworthy charm your messages convey

I can tell that you are smiling as you write to me that way

A playful endeavour as we natter back and forth

Both parts teasing as we equally want more

 

Were I to make verse with you only on my mind

Your soul and mine to be like prose, intertwined

Were I to to harbour certain, hidden sentiment

And mourn the passing time, not together moments spent

 

The glimmer of hope as your latest note arrives

A quiver and a stutter, a fluttering inside

Clutching on to foolish notions of warmth in word embrace

Tracing lines made on paper as though reading lips 'pon face

 

Were I to tell a tale of sorrow, or of woe

It would be consumed, by this warmth of inner glow

Were I to believe for a second this is true

And take the supposition there's more to what I feel for you

 

A ringing in my ears as I listen to your voice

Playback, after playback of unspoken chorus
Carefully choosing wit and imagining your laughter

Auditioning the sentences that lead to happy ever after

 

 

Were I to hold my breath on every silence till it passes

And magnify the longing like pages through these glasses

Were I to ask the questions I'm not sure if I want answered

Fearing that their only pathway is to the final word