DOubt to press a key
REvealing the sound of a hammer on its string
MIght that sound is not good to hear
FAr from the hymn, created in my ear
SO the spaces between the blacks from whites
LAst, to provide the tune of life
TIll the black keys are raised and set
DO musics whites can't create.

I am a poet because of you.
It's the way your being
delivered a tidal wave of
poetic awakening to my
once dull veins.

Your lips watered
the flowers in my tongue
that were once called prose
but now they developed into poems.

Your fingers latched
perfectly into mine and
your nerves reacted to my nerves so right
and in that moment I knew our hands  were designed for each other.

And although
your tongue left my tongue
and your hand left my hand,
the diabolical mixture of your blissful and painful memories
kept the flowers in my tongue alive.

Soon enough, the flowers
crawled through my arms and hands,
begging me to write
the poetry that they bring.

You will never read this
but I forever thank you,
for I will always be a poet
because of you.

I would love to fly
   -- and form my own figured cloud
I would love to swim
  -- and rest under the seabed
I would love to fall
  -- and be burnt beneath the atmosphere
I would love to wander
  -- and pick every stone along the street
I would love to long
  -- and live beyond reach

I wish I hope I could,
But I rather love to be with you through these adventures.

Or I would love to love you
Beyond else and beyond reach.