I love the name by which you are known –

the syllables that capture only partly
your mystique.
Shakespeare whispers in my ear

that you would be as sweet
were you recognized by any other name –

but I think the word that is you
rolls of the earth's tongue,
and who's melody when said out loud

tickles against the ease of your presence

and gives a title to your story.
A word is nothing more than an invention,

yet the one destined to you
was created before man's first tool.

 

Perhaps the poet was right when he questioned the gravity of a given name,
but to be quite honest my friend – silence compliments your beauty just the same.