How do I love you? I donít have a clue.
Itís quite the mystery, I must confess.
Iíd cite the ways were it not hopeless to,
yet even so, at times, itís fun to guess.
Itís that youíre, well, youíre absolute perfection;
the sweetest, dearest, kindest soul alive.
A beauty, certainly; thereís that connection
between your looks and how endorphins thrive,
in fact, go haywire at the merest mention
of you by someone else. I hide my blush
not very well, distracting their attention
as best I can, while conscious of the rush
of blood to my extremities, my heartís
confusion, my headís ambush by other parts.