If I may write some words for you,
if I may write one single syllable,
I am afraid I must not write at all.
I am afraid the room on this page,
(existing eternally),
is not a sufficient space for the words
I wish to write you.
I am afraid the childish metaphors
I had so cleverly crafted
are bound to wilt at your eyes’ first glance.
They are weary,
they are tired,
they are so much less than you deserve.
An absolute over-simplification
of your hands
of your sly smile
and your voice.
I will, though,
attempt to convey a glimpse of the
you I love.
My words are all I have to give.
They may not be dignified
or news-worthy,
but they will be sincere.
That much I can promise.
1 comment:
Absolutely beautiful, Anna. . .a revealing expression of vulnerable emotion - very nicely captured!
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