The Missing Piece
She cannot know, I musn't tell her.
by Benjamin Feliciano
She'll soon find out, of that I'm sure.
This girl I'm fond of, with a heart that holds captive,
She can never know, never know that the fact is...
The fact is I love her without cease, the thought of her heats my chest.
There is no contest among women, alone she triumphs as best.
She sings her love with music of the soul.
Entranced by it, I lose all control.
Unable to focus on things of gravity,
My attention span has come to be defined in brevity.
Unaware of the way she moves me inside,
I'd stop the turning of the world, to have her in my life.
Endless recollections of the times I'd tripped,
I'd stumbled, bumbled, then finally fell.
My heels flew above my head the first time we kissed,
And what remained of my knees was little more than gel.
This muse beckons me to love her without fail,
My heart longs for this, an affection never stale.
I inhale this like a vapor, saddened when its gone.
When my heart is ignited, a smile is always donned.
Never the mask of charades played in a day to day haze,
She's the conclusion to my jigsaw, much more than a phase.
She fills in the picture, making life worth rejoice.
Even if I can't reach her, her answering machine brings the subtle pleasure of her voice.
A loss for words is where I stand,
I would walk for endless miles, to be this woman's man.