Your love is like rain and my descriptions.
Are like muddy stains, puddles of diction.
Failing completely to express the way.
Your love completes me most every day.
When the forest grow and strong torrents bloom.
Watered by your flow mused in your perfume.
And I try to speak, to convey my awe.
All my words are weak, and my thoughts are flawed.
Still you love me so, even though my words.
Are lines that you know, just things you have heard.
And your love leaves my words slurred and muddled.
In awe of the sky, describing puddles.
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