Written.

Why easier to write,
Than to converse?
Gives the pen might,
Over spoken verse.

What I wish said,
Easier in text.
Sooner to be dead,
than talk next.

You

I can do naught but access,
until lay you your sweet caress.
For I think not the hand dealt,
When sweet lips I have felt.

My blight on the human race,
erased by your pretty face.
Your body blocking, I cannot see,
finally blinded, by sweet ecstasy.

Broken

Affairs of the heart
at the heart of affairs.
When lovers do part,
souls leave in pairs.