The words don't exist for how I feel. 
This is not a good thing for a poet. 

Can I say I want to hijack a hot air balloon with you 
and host a pound cake eating contest on it? 

Can I say I want to ride horses with you in circles 
around the mouths of active volcanoes? 

Can I say I want to be seagulls with you chasing 
the light towards the prows of wooden ships? 

Can I say I want to sail across the Aegean with you 
and recreate the Odyssey even if we have to imagine 
the monsters and the songs of sirens? 

I wouldn't let you win the pound cake eating contest, 
but if you were a siren, you would be by far the most 
tempting reason to drown I've ever had.