For a poet, words
And
Proper
Use of verse
Often
Fail me

But I often dream
Of the lines in your hands
The wrinkles that line
Your palm as you tighten your
Grip around mine,
The ravines it creates in which
I want to fill with affection

For a poet, my descriptions
Are often lackluster,
Falling short in a
Lame
Kind of way

But I don’t suppose i’d
have any trouble describing how my
Lips would melt like dark chocolate
Against yours,
Had they known the pleasure

For a poet, I often feel shallow
I am far too much
An a**hole, and not
Nearly enough Bukowski

But I have a passion,
A fire that refuses to burn out
And I want to give it all to the ‘one’,
In which I hold to such
A high regard,
But I don’t know
if i’ve met The
one, do
You?