The Warehouses of My Heart

I offered her but a cup of my love.
And she consumed it with zeal,
like a being starved.
And I looked on in joyous amusement,
for it seemed as though perhaps she believed,
that cup was all there was to be had.
No.
See, I offered but a fraction of an atom of my love.
Had I laid it all at her feet at once,
she would have surely been unprepared.
My heart...
my heart is like an ever busy factory,
manufacturing love relentlessly.
And for so many years now,
with nowhere to spend it,
the warehouses of my heart,
have become dangerously overstocked.
So the stockpile grows and grows and grows.
And I've waited impatiently,
for the right time and,
for the right person,
so that I may share it with her.
For I am love.
My capacity for love is endless.
I know this for I feel it every day.
On that recent occasion, I'd release but a small amount,
and overwhelmed her almost immediately.
I tried so desperately to hold back,
but I was powerless.
Wave upon wave rushed forth,
and nearly smothered her.
And yet it was only that tiny fraction of an atom of my love.
And I thought I may have lost her because of this.
But perhaps not.
Maybe from time to time she thinks of me,
and wonders.
Wonders if there is more,
and perhaps,
in the deepest most secret recesses of her heart,
she longs for more.
I truly hope so,
for I yearn to share it with her.
All of it.
I long for her to drink of my love until sated,
and drink more until the warehouses are empty.
For I have more, so much more.
I will always have more.
If only she'd let me.
When I love,
I love with my whole being.
In thoughts,
in words,
in deeds.
It is my very life.
To love.
And perhaps,
to be loved.

She Loves Me | She Loves Me Not

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Other original works by Accidental Poet
The Perfect Storm

Awakening

Didn't You?

Wanting

Cruel Father time