Delayed Epiphany Poem by Murtada Alsaadi

As I read the text that describes
A love that wasn't even written by the scribes
A love that portrays a heart that's full
The kind that makes blood rush like a bull
I feel as if I was completely oblivious
To a trip that would have been anything but serious
A ride that would have blown my mind
Out of this world and I would find
A tender clutch with a certain bliss
Almost as great as meeting your lips

So why would I ever deny the fact
That I would easily commit the act
Of holding your hand and do pretend
To be in love that doesn't break or bend
An entranced ecstasy of a sort to show
A love resistant to a glitch or bow
But the problem is that you fail to realize
A love like this has no ending but demise
A love that's sweet, tender, and delicious
A love that can't be shared with another precious.