If someone is out there like shades of the moon
I used to wait bearing little bells believing you would come soon.
I’ve tried idealizing, making women who were not you seem true.
I’ve tried searching, but there are some things even Google can’t do.
If someone is out there who foments my salmon sky,
are you watching the capacity for love in me die?
Am I “The Walrus” the celebratory beat?
Are you the tundra waiting for a match?
Am I the eyes of a dragon fantasy,
misunderstood, galvanized, wanting everything pretty?
Are you the sprinkler head on a summer night,
the child running through or the mosquito that bites?
I’ll tell you love I am not pretty. When I’m down or up
all I have is poetry. And I can hold up these words and
make people feel sorry. But I cannot make you appear,
or even know I am here, always, waiting.
When I run out of words to say, colors run away,
visions of you still play upon my chest. Dressed in white,
dancing in moonlight, hair flowing free I start to wonder
if I deserve you instead of monotony.
It's very hard to write a decent winy love poem. This one barely makes the cut.