Hypocorism

I fell like an ancient Tree uprooted
From rain soaked Forested ground.
Consecutive nights daily pounded
Pitter and Pats of dropping sound.

Infectious sense of symbiotic humor
like colored mold growth on Trees;
You, my Love, have grown on me
forever with You, I’d love to be.

No photos of You hang from Your wall
ne’er have I laid my eyes upon You.
However, my heart and soul anew
Feels the Beauty inside of You.

No nomenclature is required
My Love, is more than enough.
Your name I could use as much
if My Love, is a wee bit rough.

Perhaps this is too soon
for a moonlighted repast;
I can slow to make this last
to know all of me en masse.