No language has a word that exactly means

the shape of your eyes when you smile.

Nor does and dialect name the gentle curve

of your lower back above the hip.

No syllable yet formed by human lips

means the tender touch of yours.

Or the soft susurration of your breathing while you dream.

Only an invented tongue could frame your beauty:

the language of You, whose every word

is contoured to your essence

like beads of sweat

quivering on

your lip.