I could sing you as the lyrics to my songs,
Depict you in art, watercolours and oils.
Or write you into fantasy, poetry or prose
Enough to fill the pages of a Library of books.
I could appreciate the intoxicating scent of you,
Delicate and fragrant as Night Blooming Jasmine
Or the headiness of a Rose, kissed by the Summer Sun.
But you would only recoil from these tributes of mine.
For loving you is wrong, if you choose not to see
There is only heartache lying in wait for me
Until you see as I do, the beauty in you and your Soul
... and give yourself permission to love yourself too.
Eily Nash ~2020