To say the three words feels dishonest,

belittling the electric jolt in my chest,

so tender and immediate that 

it hurts to breathe,

the fume from my body 

in your proximity,

the wretched wound

when you let me down,

the desire to melt 

your skin into mine (never close enough),

the bliss and the torture,

oh, none of it can be painted by 

mortal words, but

if left unspoken, 

holds an essence so pure, untainted,

real.