i wish my hands knew how to work
a pencil, a brush, a stick of charcoal
to do away with the interpretive nature of language
and simply show the images in my mind:

of the shape of your body
the gentle small curves that trace from toe to neck
the reflections of sunlight off your freshly showered skin
your perfect legs and perfect fingers and perfect everything

of the sublime Shangri-La that is your countenance
the lips that smile at and speak to and kiss me so heart-stoppingly
the lines that echo a lifetime of laughter and learning and living
the eyes that observe and haunt and twinkle so blindingly

of the way you shine so radiantly
laughing at bad puns and inside jokes
in the throes of physical bliss
when you tell me ‘I love you’

i want these images as reminders for myself
i want to share them with the world, unbidden
but mostly i want you to understand
how your song looks to my soul