Secret Words - a poem

If I told you about her, you might not believe
me. How she stole my heart, but not exactly
because I had gifted it to her enshrouded
in bubble wrap. I could tell you how complete
she makes me feel, as though I were missing
a shark bite sized chunk out of my abdomen
but that she perfectly fills in anytime she is near
me. If I told you all of that you wouldn't believe
me. If I told you that I was just a boy standing
in front of a girl, and other cringe worthy lines
I don't think you'd stand for that sort of cheesi-
ness, but if I told you that the scrunch of her nose
when she's laughing makes my heart melt, as though
it's been set inside a brick oven and reduced
to a gurgling pile of mush, maybe you might possibly
perhaps believe what I feel. If the starlight was yellow
shining on just for her, as though the cosmos mistook
all the other peoples for pieces in the game of her existence
you might consider me a little bananas. If the truth that wise
men tell, about fools falling for each other in a speed course,
you might perchance venture a word of caution, but you need
not do that.

If I could find the words to encompass the sky-high feels
that embed themselves in my bones, I would have no more use
for poetry, or for prose, and letters would become
doodles done by fools. If I knew those words, I'd say them out loud
but then I'd have no where to go. These lines would be blank pages
because I would have found the perfect line, the perfect phrase,
to describe her beauty, her heart, her smarts, her drive.
This is why I do not search for the perfect word,
I do not see that as a goal worthy of pursuit, because I have so many
options to choose from as I try to form the meaning of my heart
out of what letters I have, of what understanding that I know.

If I told the masses through megaphone that blasted the news
headlong into the past and future, and littered the present,
the masses may hush me, I may bother them with my constant
lines of affections, and that would be fine, I do not announce
my feelings for them, I announce them for her, the priority
of my heart, the first and last thoughts before my eyes go to sleep,
the subject of my happiest dreams, I do not announce how I feel
for the people whose cynicism curses the head in the cloud lovers,
I announce them for her, that she should never wonder what she means
to me, and that meaning should not be lost, because to me she is breath,
the slightest inhale, the sharpest exhale, or vice and versa, and so
on and so forth, with an ellipsis, with a to be continued, with a next time
on this show of ours, this life, set up for the sequel, and as each plot
turn of this romance emerges, I will feign shock that my affections
could grow, because I knew they would go, to sky-limits, to heights beyond
clouds, to the farthest ventures that human kind can muster.

If I told them about her,
I might say that she is a woman,
and all that that entails, all that strength,
and drive, and badassery,
she is woman,
driven, divine, dreaming
and she chose to call me
hers. 

If I told that to you, you might cry, and you might smile, you might
cry-smile, and the amount of joyful tears you can drop drop and plop
onto the garden of my heart would grow my adoration exponentially
because there is no where I'd rather be,
than exactly where I am,
planning futures with you.