Ineptness of Ink

To spell the ways of love evades my pen

Disrober of the heart and soul and mind

And I would blush but love is gentle, kind

Forgiving foibles common unto men

And yet to spell its ways evades my pen

Softly you come to me and I love you

As you remove the ramparts to my soul

Geography of skin is not the whole

But oh, beneath your kiss its touch will do

Softly you come to me and I love you

The ways of love are life’s great mystery

We cannot suffer its caress alone

For love cannot exist in only one

Divine extolling of insanity

The ways of love are life’s great mystery

To tell the ways of love evades my quill

How does one spell the lining of a heart?

Or shape in word our utter-deepest part

Shattering eons when the night is still

To tell love’s ways evades my humble quill

© Janet Martin