My heart-
it whispers in the quiet,
it howls in the dark,
and in every beat,
your name is the rhythm,
your touch the spark.

I try to speak of other things-
the moon,the sea,
the rustle of wind in leaves-
but even the moon
shines only in your image,
and every wave
echoes your sigh.

My veins are ink,
and you are the poem
they write again and again
with no end.

You are the fire
I walk into willingly,
the silence that fills
every empty room.

My heart talks about nothing but you-
not out of habit,
but out of hunger.
Out of worship.
Out of the wild,
unchangeable truth
that you are my only language.