Did I not tell you that I loved you
That morning in July,
As we were sitting out on the veranda,
Butterflies, Bumbles and Bees buzzing by.
Leaning back, at ease and tired,
We were looking out at the sea, you and I.
As white curtains billowed in the breeze all around us,
That one morning in July.
Nothing to say of importance,
Holding our peace, you and I,
Checked for silence, never tax’d for speech,
Two like hearts in the morning, that one day in July.
Did I not tell you that I loved you,
Any of our profoundly meaningless hours,
The days, the months, the weeks, the years,
That we thought were all just ours?
All those plans, and schemes, and plots, and twists
We cooked up together, darling,
The things that worked out, the plans that crashed,
Weren’t they all ours just the same?
Do words change meanings, emotions, and feelings,
Do they turn truth to fact?
If I never told you that I loved you,
Would that make everything an act?
Pretence, a guise, façade, a big show,
All these hours, days, months, weeks and years,
Made redundant by lack of proclamation.
All those dreams and all our shared fears.
You look at me now,
Wait for me to vow,
I said it then, I’ll say it again,
But it’s not that word that binds us.
I told you that I loved you a thousand times,
The word never lives up to what I’m feeling,
It cannot comprise all these seconds and decades,
‘Tis but a word with imposéd meaning
It cannot comprise what makes us up, you and I,
It can never even touch on what I’m feeling.