An Ode to Muses to Melpomene

Immortals

I love this version of my self-portrait,

Or the man using me as Narcissus's Pond.

I outrun Daphne's thoughts

And instead,

Submit to your dancing lute melody.

I look forward to each laugh line etched when we smile,

Every slab of clay added when we share a meal,

And each column built into this house of worship.

I never encountered aging with grace,

Until I witnessed your immortality in an ambrosia high.

Even though you are my work of art,

I nestle your head perfectly into my bosom,

As if my shape has been catered to fit yours.

I do not love you as I used to, if possible, infinitely,

As infinitely as the universe loves the stars,

Only with a lack of black holes,

As infinitely as God loves his creation,

Only for all seven days.

My love measures from the ruins under concrete streets,

To the buildings that adorn city skylines.

Loving you is manifest destiny,

Only from continent to continent.

When I look upon your face,

The world emits perfume and strawberry skies,

While the moon is sprinkled with the sun's gold shavings,

As tides flow from the river Euphrates and apples never spoil.

I may not love you as history once wrote,

Owned by the final draft of my masterpiece,

I belong to you.