The language of love is complex,
With words, not easily explained.
Affection evidently present,
But words to tell cease flow.
All we feel is the attraction,
Dwelling in the loudest silences-
Silences that surpass words.
The chemistry of searching eyes,
Misty eyes as morning dew.
Butterflies in your stomach,
They play hide and seek.
Their pheromones affect you,
Love piles in countless files.
She eats her fingers,
Can’t look you in the eye.
You pace around on sight of her,
Searching for something you didn’t lost.
You envisage her silhouette at night,
His frame flashes in your memory.
An obvious flood of emotions:
It makes the vocal short of words,
Even the most fluent stutter.
Words don’t do much,
Love has its own language-