In a fever, I wrote you a sonnet
In a dreamscape I staggered to a desk
At a window with sunlight poured on it
A thousand years' poets lent aid my task
Pen in hand I scribbled out some wan word
Faint and simple stumbled across the page
Rhythm of my heart, now in text observed
Grandest themes faded and held in a cage.
The poem I wrote cannot match your gay face
The grace of your spirit reduced to rhyme
The light in your eyes flashes across space
Meets me, melts me, and knocks me out of time
Poets observe me, know my words futile—
Has a man ever been so beautiful?