How can it be that I love you so,
when I'm yet to see your eyes,
I see your face every night,
as my lids close and I dream off to sleep,
but to touch you, to hold you,
That is the dream I am yet to have.
How do you smell?
What noise do you make?
What colour are your eyes?
To say 'I love you', isn't enough,
You are my world,
though you are yet to be born in mine.
How can that be?
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