What Hasn't Been Said

What hasn’t yet been said about one’s true
Love? What remains for me of you to say?
Your glist’ning eyes do pierce my heart right through,
As lashes long upon your cheeks do play.

How lips so delicately flushed 
Are parted by your laugh, revealing teeth
Flashing and white, while hair so dark, smooth brushed,
Does run in rivulets o’er neck beneath.

Your skipping legs do blur through leaf-strewn fields
And down bucolic trails where you call me
With but a look. How winter’s days you shield
Me from the cold and share rough blankets weighty.

But these are all new things to say of course,
For one’s true love is so rarely a horse.

meter: iambic pentameter
form: Shakespearean sonnet, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG