I am a terrible dancer.
But for you I would dance,
I would twirl and spin and slide,
to whatever music you gave me
my clumsy clomping feet would suddenly
for a moment be graceful,
just for you.

I am a terrible singer.
But for one glance of your smile
I would climb each stumbling, soaring note
I would belt out my love for you
singing along to the radio in our car
tremulously letting song fill me,
just for you.

I am a terrible writer.
But I compose this poem out of
nothing but love for you
-- because I have nothing else --
and I'd rearrange the alphabet
a thousand times over
til it forms the words I want,
just so, on the page,
just for you.

I am a terrible artist.
But I would cut my heart and bleed
my love for you to paint with;
my body to be a sculpted statue
a monument of ******* and hips and desire
only for you.

I am a terrible lover.
But all I can say is that I try, with all my might
for you to know my love, feel my love
and not just when we are entangled in each other but
even when we walk side by side down the street,
when my fingers brush yours unexpectedly,
in the way you rub your eyes when you are tired
and the way you stare at me for so long I get uncomfortable,
saying, "I just like to look at you."

I see you and my love is
always for you, always with you,
a glow of me in all you do because
I am standing on this cliff edge and
it's too late, it's too late
I've given you all of me, and even if it
destroys me
there's no coming back

Everything I do, I do for you.