She'll never know

Another sonnet for March.  I'm in a poetic mood.

'It's all about her'

(dedicated to J)


My eyes seek her in ev'ry likely place
because she is the shape of which I dream.
She's not a classic beauty, has not grace
that begets male amazement -- no, her stream
flows through me when she slakes my needful thirst
for pure connubiality. Indeed,
I know I shall not ever feel a burst
of ecstasies inside her; and my seed
shall not be planted in her womb;  but still
I wish to be her husband when I see
her, have the opportunity and thrill
to view her naked, hold her blissfully
together in both love and passion -- there
is why I wish to be with one so rare.