I refuse to write you a poem.
For I know I don't own the talent to do you justice.
I could never butcher you in ink
or crudely sculpt your image in words,
no,
you
deserve verses
carved in the ilk of Sappho
or Neruda,
you deserve a love poem.
But I am no love poet.
I never could distill beauty,
mine is a far too brutal art.
Love poetry is work for the surgeon and I carry only swords
my cuts are rough
I lack the subtle touch required
to sew a tapestry from your veins
so,
no.
I refuse to write you a poem.
But I need you to know
you were the earth that nurtured the roots of all my growth
the coal that stoked the furnace in my rib cage
a book of unturned pages
revelations
at every flick of my fingertip.
And I'm sorry
I finished reading you
before the end.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
I refuse to write you a poem.
For I know I don't own the talent to do you justice.
I could never butcher you in ink
or crudely sculpt your image in words,
no,
you
deserve verses
carved in the ilk of Sappho
or Neruda,
you deserve a love poem.
But I am no love poet.
I never could distill beauty,
mine is a far too brutal art.
Love poetry is work for the surgeon and I carry only swords
my cuts are rough
I lack the subtle touch required
to sew a tapestry from your veins
so,
no.
I refuse to write you a poem.
But I need you to know
you were the earth that nurtured the roots of all my growth
the coal that stoked the furnace in my rib cage
a book of unturned pages
revelations
at every flick of my fingertip.
And I'm sorry
I finished reading you
before the end.
