For you I can write love

I think of Donne’s

romance and understanding,

of sonnets too, too real

Of the bliss in How do I love thee

but also the self guile.

I don’t write easily of love

somehow the embarrassment

sets my hand uneasy

upon the page.

So why do you stir in me

these attempts to create more

than I can achieve?

Why?  When I think of you

do the words burst forth

and more than words flow

And how is it you

give me courage

to pen feelings on page?

And poets gone before

have not the greater treasure

though their meter be precise

and their words measured.

And why do I think of you

when at life I need to smile?

And how is it your thought here

can give grace and style?

Why would I face embarrassment?

Once for a man is too much.

Why could I face embarrassment?

It feels as deaths’ touch.

Why would I face embarrassment?

Because;

For you I can write love.