Scribbled notes, a word, here and there,
thoughts jotted down before they’re lost,
journals filled with rhymes from thin air,
failed metaphors erased and tossed.

Crumpled paper piled in my head,
stories that should not be written,
poems penned never to be said,
a single word had me smitten.

A phrase I think might become more,
a tiny twinge might be a seed,
a style I’ve never used before,
an allusion that might succeed.

Images that need description,
seeing a fraction of a whole,
each of these an apt depiction
of chaos in a writer’s soul.

I’ve loved without loving being in love,
and loved with a love that I was scared of.
I’ve loved while hating I’d fallen so hard,
and been in love when loving left me scarred.

I’ve loved when love left me empty inside,
and love when loving felt like I had died.
I’ve loved when everything said I should not,
and been in love while I felt myself rot.

I’ve loved when I wished love would go away,
and loved dying with a heart in decay.
I’ve loved as if I was loving the pain,
and been in love pervasive disdain.

I’ve loved because I’ve refused to lose hope,
and loved as if I might someday elope.
I’ve loved the dream that a love could be true,
like the love that I love when loving you.

Contentment left me discontented,
dissatisfied with satisfaction.
Unselfishness left me resented,
attractiveness was no attraction.

Couldn’t depend on dependable,
and it was hard when it was easy.
Neediness became expendable,
and too much calm made me feel queasy.

Lost all passion for the passionate,
conflicted by the lack of conflict.
No more heart to be compassionate,
found imperfection in the perfect.

A good enough love was never good,
finding those loves not worth looking for.
I know now what I then understood—
love like ours is everything and more.

Her fine black hair like sculpted ebony
frames eyes like autumn leaves so deep and green.
Her face’s shape was made to smile at me,
Her lashes flutter and I know I’m seen.

Her nose sculpted to nestle against mine
with lips fully colored as ripened fruit.
She tilts her head to expose her neck line,
she’s elegant perfection, absolute.

Her shoulders give way to arms long and strong,
yet soft with tenderness of her embrace.
She draws me closer in them while I sleep
so that I wake to her angelic face.

I see in her the word beauty defined,
as if I coined the word in my own mind.