You

Desolation was my frame of mind--
Je suis désolé as the Frenchman said;
I was my own lethal kiss of death,
Scoring zero all over, a pillar of lead,
Until you turned up.
You! You! I'll spell it: Y-O-U.
You exceed my imagination's limits,
And words for perfection are feeble and few,
So how to begin? You're not superficial,
Nor a lush, nor a druggie, not even vain;
You're even-tempered, articulate, helpful,
Selfless, and last yet foremost: sane.
Your beauty stuns strangers at twenty-five paces.
At the table outside of our chosen cafe,
We lip-read each other's flirtatious smirks
And clink tulip glasses of chardonnay,
While planning our Sunday in bed, with crosswords
And Cross pens staining our interplay.
After that, a decadent picnic's in order:
Wrapped in blankets and nick-picking tids off a tray
Pyramided with goodies, we'll finish the day
On a bluff where the sunset's forever extending.
Thanks to you, my agony's over; I'm past it;
My last stretch of desert's behind me�"I'm mending
In a luscious oasis full of dates and flamingoes,
And--excuse me, I must have some sand in my eye--
A shimmering love that will never diminish . . .
I'm so utterly happy, I just want to die.