Stolen artifact, favored possession,
A pilfering of trinket and heirloom,
Would surely fail in feint comparison,
Precise moment you walk into the room.
Who grants the right for you to look that way?
I'm weak in the knees; you've said not a word.
My wherewithal falls, into disarray,
Composure cannot be manufactured.
There is no synonym for the word, "Love."
Caught up here in the subtle web you weave,
You are all I hope and dream, in and of;
There is but one way I can see you leave;
Granted, a far reach, my expectancy ~
Grasp firm my hand, and steal away with me.
Michael Todd (2014)