To my Queen.

I wish I had the words to do you justice in verse
And Lust! Is just this ticking time bomb, making it worse.
It’s puerile.
Trying to describe you, with vocabulary fitting,
Is like trying to eat a Christmas dinner
All In one sitting.
It’s futile.
Lust doesn’t convey the days and days I lie awake,
Hopelessly trying to find ways to make you love me again.