When all the sharp objects,
Fail to capture human
Desperation on rocks.
The quills stutter on the
Rough patches of parch
With the ink that's absorbed
Across the surface.
I would want to sit staring
At the depth of your eyes,
Till a civilization falls at
Your feet, pleading to
Evolve itself a language,
That could fleet across
Our unwavering sight,
Only to declare,
Its helplessness to
Capture the dimensions
Of this one passing
Moment.
So that then, I could
Calmly explain, even in
A verbose world,
How incompetent I am,
To describe our feeble
Connection.