Incompleteness

I paint poor pictures of my precious love
In watercolors weakly washed with phrases
Each phrase a failed, yet free expression of
The liquid love lapped in my constant gazes.
See in my eyes each effort's true conceit;
Each longing look will linger on your face,
And if my heart has help, our eyes will meet
Such that you see my sense, and will embrace
The meaning, not mere merit, of my words,
And take the treasured of my heart
Into your own. Yet yearning comes in herds
And words, though witty, wean only a part
Of what, in deep devotion, dearness feels:
So rightly read the rest of my appeals.