Thursday, July 29, 2010

Inadequate

Were I a poet
I'd write you a rhyme

A musician
I'd write you a tune

Were I an artist
I'd paint you the Heavens

An astronomer
I'd lasso the moon

Would but that I were all of these things
Then maybe you might see

The depth to which your mere memory affects
the very heart of me

But given a parchment, a lute, a brush
or a telescope aimed at the sun

My fingers, so clumsy, my heart all aflutter,
could master nary a one

The words to my sonnet, the notes to my symphony,
The muse to my masterpiece, the stars to my galaxy

You, who are all that I see

Will you ever know the depth to which your mere memory affects
the very heart of me?

Friday, July 16, 2010

Erin

You are hideously resplendent
As you kick me when I'm down

Superior with your heel upon my throat

You--brilliant--know just what to say to crush me
And your aim for the jugular hits

Every time

Cool when my heart is racing
Cruel when it is breaking

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen

Kill me again, emerald eyes