Only two people
have no flaws in the whole world
newly in love, both.

Let me love you
in all the ways I know,
in all the ways I want.

Let me surprise you
beyond all the conventions
of how people love,
beyond the borrowed stories
told for centuries,
of others loving others
by someone else’s rules.

Let me be myself
in love
for you.

I promise it will be
special,
unique,
unknown,
a mosaic of new facets,
still undiscovered.

For love is art
never poor in method,
never demanding
what to do,
how to be.

And since love is art,
let me be the artist
to paint love
in every color
that ever existed
on earth,
in the heavens,
in my heart,
and your thoughts.

Let me love you in
all the ways I know, and all
you have never known.

We write no more poems
In the rain of bombs on kids
Yes, my poems died too!

I was not your fate
though we chose each other once
you sleep next to him.

I am a quiet, silent man,
Dwelling deep within myself.
What I long to say aloud,
I pour into a letter’s shell.

She, playful, fleeting like the breeze,
All that I express in words,
She replied with a single image,
And spoke with her eyes unheard.

How beautiful those nights once were,
What magic lived in those old days!
Today again, my heart desires
To send you a letter… always.

But this time, through an artist's hand,
This letter shall reach your grace.
Some words of the heart remain unsaid,
That only colors can embrace.

To the painter I make one humble plea
When you read my letter’s line,
Sketch her soul upon the page,
And let her truest face shine.

Let us see
If my words still hold the weight
Of truth, of ache, of silent grace.
And if she, when the artist paints,
Still wears that same beloved face...
Or was it all just well-performed
a role she played through posed displays?

The world sleeps so still,  
peaceful in its ignorance  
screams fall like petals...