I have measured out my life in iambic pentameter;
within assonance, assiduous in its attendence,
lay the key to my left ventricle. The right—
beat lonely as a daffodil, beneath the
sky, blue as bluest blue. Where once petals lay,
two eyes that knew more than I would ever know
sprouted. Then that flower told me a story,
which broke me down to my knees.
I shall compare you to a Summer’s night,
for you wrap around my fragile stanzas.
You blanket me up in smilies, as gentle
as your tongue. Your sweat drips down
into the open chasm of my soul, and I
blend.
And then—
i carry your heart(in my pockets),
where lay lint and crumbled cookies;
there are forgotten sighs in the dark.
you are one of them.
So;
let us go then, you & I—
we will take the road less travelled,
and I will live out a story book:
whilst you will be a poem—
the poem is the experience
