Snapshot Juliet

A hundred snapshots a second:
Can’t find the right shutter speed
Perhaps it’s too much light;
Nary too much exposure.
Yet none of them good enough,
Since none of them are worth a 1,000 words.
None of them are worth the two or three
That I scream to cry to you;
So instead I choose to laugh and smile
At my dumb mirth to which I can’t
Even communicate:
Do you see it in my eyes?

Wherefore art thou, Juliet?
What’s in a name, Jennifer?
That which we call a rose, is it not
Beautiful, cute, and adorable?
Is it not something which I love
More than I can even picture
By that or any other word?
These thorns prick our smiles, always asking "what?"
What answer can dumb mirth give?
Do you see it in my eyes?

So Juliet would, were she not a rose called,
Retain that dear perfection which she owes,
Without that title, without those metaphors:
No more a flower, no more a picture
More than words or looks or smiles or laughs:
Can you see it in my eyes?
Captured, flashed, and burnt:
Seared on the film of your brain
Retained through the majesty of that to which
No words can suffice.
More than words and pictures and flowery poetry:
Do you see in my eyes?