YOU ARE WRITE FOR ME

IF YOU'RE POETRY

If you're poetry,
I would stay the lonesome and sleepless nights, gazing on my balcony.
Rhyming you with the glinting stars, whereas the moon is creating your symphony.
That's where I really wanted to be.
If you're poetry,
With just a single quill, I would love to write you away from misery.
Penning you a book of your story.
I would make sure that every line is jotted down with jaw-dropping scenery.
A serene place just for you and me.
If you're poetry,
I would pore over you with my teary eyes, mesmerizing enough and comely.
Tears that will jump and flow into your pages, like shooting stars in February,
Crying your name so loudly.
If you're poetry,
I would always be at the edge of excitement and frenzy,
Every page and every paper, I would flip it carefully.
The way Orion guards and watches you even if he's already sleepy.
Because you're the only one that I really wanted to see.
If you're poetry,
I would hold and fold you with my shaky hands delicately,
Every night, I would mention you in my prayers to the Almighty.
To keep you in my diary.
If you're poetry,
It's okay to be buried with crumpled papers, having you as a mystery.
It's fine for me to be drowned with inks, for bleeding would lead me to love you deeply.
I used to call it an infinitesimal agony.
If you're poetry,
I'd be willing to be lost in the cacophony of your words, as infinite as the heavenly body.
I could wait for you endlessly,
Until I found the colors and footnote that you saved for me.
If you're poetry,
I would peruse you with my heart of Amity,
Your northern lights that would make you feel safe and happy.
I just don't want you to feel humdrum and lonely.
If you're poetry,
I would read you like a bedtime story,
I would even publish you as my tome that's weighty.
I know you'd do the same, or maybe.
But that would always be fine, totally.
If you're poetry,
I would be your noble and romantic poet proudly,
Because you are write for me.