A Dream To Write

These words like roses
have edged towards me,
Beautifully seducing,
word
by
word.






I can’t remember when it was –
The time I
Fell
In love –
Like an itching I can only dream to scratch.




From childish lashes, to experienced lids,
my eyes have always hungered for what he possesses:
a Poet within these longing hands,
Poetry to spill from within this sighing mouth.




Every attempt at creation:
Another
unrequited love;
That so quick,
Takes my words
And spits them
Back.




Lifting the too-light pen
and weighing my words down with the heavy beats,
beats of this rejection-filled heart,
I write.
I write and write and write and –




Love.




The day I became a Poet:
or remembered more fondly:
The day Poetry loved
Me
Back.