I love you.

I loved you before I knew you.

My heart yearned for what it did not yet know, stumbling through chaos, a rudderless ship in a storm, a blind bird winging its way through darkness, a pilgrim engulfed in wilderness, devoid of compass.

That was before you.

Before my heart felt its first of a thousand throbs, before my soul so completely surrendered to the onslaught of your beauty, before my veins flowed with desire and my arms ached to hold.

Now, there is you.

The skies have cleared, the sun has risen, the landscape resurrected. The world itself has come alive, a fitting backdrop for your movements, a stage set for you alone, as creation defers, privileged in the role of supporting actor.

Does the whippoorwill not sing only for you?

Do the antelope not frolic for your entertainment and the eagle soar for your pleasure? Does the wind not blow only to refresh your face and the dandelions stretch to tickle your ankles alone? Do not all living things revel in your presence?

Were the sun mine, I would bequeath it to you, a token of the flame you kindle within my breast.

Yet the sun is no match for your radiance.

Were the moon mine, I would gift it to you on bended knee, its role of piercing the darkness likened to your entrance into a room.

Yet the moon is no match for your presence.

Were the stars mine, I would fashion them together, a celestial necklace, and place them around your neck, a fitting adornment for the queen of the night.

Yet all the stars combined are no match for the twinkle in your eyes.

But one thing I request, one thing I dare ask of you who holds my heart in the palm of your hand.

Would you mind not chewing with your mouth open?