you are not allowed to leave this earth
because I cannot draw well enough
to capture your likeness.
graphite doesn't show the contours of your lips,
the way they pull back, like flowers unfurling,
with lush smiles of satisfaction,
or radiant laughter.
any brushstroke is too dense and heavy,
for the gentleness of your eyes
stills my hand, and as inspired as I become,
dexterity is lost at the look of your gaze,
glistening in wonder, or locked in mine,
while I wonder the language in which you see.
your voice proceeds all music,
and no siren song could pull me in
as sweetly as your absent ramblings,
no piano could break my heart as the sound of your agony,
no strings could soothe me to sleep
as the lullaby of the rise and fall of your chest.
all poetry is short of explanation,
and couldn't define the depths of your soul,
no matter how hard it seeks to try.
this poet tries.
clearly,
all fall short.

you are not allowed to leave this earth,
because nothing I can create is as you are,
entirely human,
ingenious, exhausted,
melancholy and joy,
the only muse who is
as broken as I am,
and who is loved,
so very much
the same.