Kicking perfect pebbles by the grandiose golden gates,
Those gates I've been locked out of for life,
Those gates too impossibly high to vault.
Those gates that hold everything I've ever wanted.
Your gates. Your towering, glowing gates.
Meet me by the specific part of the gate just wide enough for you to slip through
Never me, of course, I'd have to be perfectly shaped to slide through those bars.
I'd have to be shaped exactly like you.
And since I'm not, instead I set up camp right by your exit route and simply wait.
You slip through with a swan's grace and a peacock's showmanship.
You're everything you were rumored to be, and more
You look at me like you couldn't last a day without my heart's presence.
You blink twice, and look at me like you'd rather be anywhere else.
Let me sculpt you out of clay, let me paint you in charcoal gray,
Let me get to know every intricate detail of your very soul.
Let me drown myself in the sweetest and strongest black cherry wine
Let me engrave myself in gorgeous mahogany,
Let me be eternal, let me be free.
My muse, I say.
Kiss me one more time and remind me what it's like to know all there is to know.
Embrace the beauty of pitch, learn to blend in with the night and all that's dark.
Cover my canvas in tar-ish silk, blend out the outlines until you have to squint for the contour.
My muse, I beg.
If love was a fools errand, I'd certainly fit that bill.
How foolish does a man have to be to dedicate his eulogy to the waxing moon?
How many times does he learn the same lesson before he stops re-reading the book?
Does he not see all the tear-filled eyes of his entertained onlookers?
Does he find joy in his flighty jesters' dance?
So long as you smile, he'll dance through it all.
So long as you're still dangling from that string, 10 feet off the ground.
He'll train and he'll sprout wings and he'll build trampoline shoes just for you.
And still he'll always be one inch short.
So long as your harness stays auto-belayed.
