i can't fill the Sistine Chapel's ceiling
with a mural of my love
the dusty paint bottles in my closet
are not the colors i dedicate to you
my hard and broken brushes
won't show how i fell for you

but i can write you sonnets on napkins
on why your smile outshines the sun
i can fill pads of paper
just about the green of your eye
only in novels can i tell you
of how i reach for you every morning

i can never show the world
the hair that falls in your eye
when you get angry
but i can write
sonnets on
napkins