I do not want to write
a perfect poem.
I do want to express
my feelings and ideas.

My perfect poem would be
thoughtful and sensitive.

My perfect poem would be
bold and exciting.

My perfect poem would express
my feelings and ideas.

I do not want to write with
perfect form.
I do want to write
a perfect poem.

every inch of her skin was hand carved by angels,
she was like coming up for air,
a handful of tiny miracles.
I was a cosmic mess unraveling at the seams,
a fatal storm destroying everything I touched,
turning everything that was beautiful into nothingness and dust.
and then I saw her,
the dip of her curves and her hands on her hips like she was invincible, unafraid of the walking disaster heading her way
and it had only been a couple of seconds
but already I was intent on kissing her
of discovering the secret land of her lips
lacing my fingers through the ocean of her hair and anchoring her body against my chest
pressed together like an unbreakable bond, a force to be reckoned with
we would be powerful
I could tell
but I walked towards her
my eyes like tornados and hers like the sun
I looked at her
and she looked at me
and instantly I felt myself dissolving into stardust
into nothing, into nothing like everything I'd ever touched or ever tried to love,
she looked at me
and I disappeared
she breathed me in
and we were one

Am I good enough
Am I smart enough
Am I pretty enough
Creative enough
short enough tall enough
slim enough funny enough
loving enough caring enough
enough enough enough
empty enough