I can never say love.
I see your wondrous blue eyes open wide,
wider than the breath of my devoted heart,
and you move away from my side.
I can never say “love,”
though my blood rushes when you near,
and the time together is never enough,
and the word is filled with fear.
I can never say “love.”
Nevertheless, we’re no longer the same,
becoming more and more one,
and caring does dull the pain.
I can never say “love,”
yet we meet it when our fingers touch,
when we raise each class of ruby wine.
To admit the truth would be too much.
I want to say “love,”
to release a burning cosmic energy,
to take you into me,
to unite in lovers’ ecstasy.
I want to say “love,”
and here you grateful to confess,
what we’ve tried so hard to hide,
no longer guilty of wanting more than less.
I can never say “love,”
I have only myself to blame.
Maybe we can say it,
but it’s not because we don’t,
it’s just because we do.