Sometimes you make me 
long for impossible things.


I wish I were your poem,
A free verse between your lips
A rhyming villanelle of your finger tips
A solemn ballad dipped in your lucent ink

I wish I were your dance
A teasing twist within your arms
A rousing tension in your form
A waltzing skip in your gasp

I wish I were your art
A naked canvas for your thoughts
A reverie full of hue to fill your naughts
A portrait for your solitary fears or hopes 

And though I don't resent the odds
or the beautiful creature who must indeed be marvelous
But sometimes love, I do wish I could be her
For she is all of the above,

The one who has so dearly entranced your heart.


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