I live here within the lives that do not belong to me.
Here is where I turn a page and find all your mysteries.
You share with us your poetry;
We raft on treasured wordy seas.

I speak with water,
Because I'd seen it so.
I'm soaking wet with wonderment,
Caught up in rhythmic flow.

We profess our admiration,
We counsel our critique,
We remember the lines you crafted,
As we get ourselves through the week.

Please, give us your inspiration;
We strive on borrowed phrases.
Please, continue writing.
We leave you with our praises.

I wanted to tell her that I liked her
That I thought she was very pretty and I was happy when we were alone together
But I couldn't
I could never find the right words
I wanted to confess my feelings in an eloquent way, with beautiful words spoken gracefully in a romantic setting
A cathedral with her face stained in glass and my body on a cross
Anything less would be inappropriate
Laughable

She is so strange and gorgeous and bright that speaking to her normally feels surreal
Her presence in my field of vision seems unnatural compared the mundane surrounding
It makes her almost spectral
When I touch her I expect she'll shimmer and disappear and, in a way, leave me feeling relieved

The very fact of her existence terrifies me
If something as beautiful as her can exist, something equally monstrous must also be lurking somewhere, in the dark
A counterweight to her majesty
The possibility is terrifying
And if that monster does exist, I think that, probably,
it's lurking in me