A whisper is nothing but a few muddled words of delight,
to a passion kept in secret hidden from sight.
Words you will never heard me utter or say,
but alone in the darkness I will always pray.
Kisses of and touches of skin stroll through my mind,
endless pictures of passion in constant rewind.
All of this comes alive every time I know you are near,
and all of this passion I shun words for you to hear.
By candlelight, I work in quite bliss thinking of your name,
imagining your body close but feeling the flame.
To touch your lips or my hand over your chest,
knowing all the while it its my only time to be my very best.
Still I am plagued by body illnesses and I am not all fit,
I do have my mind and a sharp wit.
Still this could never warm your body or let you passion go wild,
and beyond this I doubt I can give you a child.
But my words are true just like my dream for you,
if you ever ask me of this poem I will tell you it’s not true.
You deserve far more then I have or ever give,
so because of that alone I shall live.
