Poetic Justice

You are my poetry

If I were to say that you lie,
In the soft petals of a rose,
That your smile,
Is a blinding reflection of the rays of the sun
That you are a forest,
Of mystery, of darkness, but of freedom,
That you were a soothing taste,
To my bitter lips,
A sweet melody,
Ringing in my deaf ears.
If I were to say,
You we're all of these pleasantries,
We both know that I would be lying.

For I care not for a rose,
Because I know of it's thorns,
I care not for the sun,
For how would I be able to admire you,
If you were blinding?
For how would I care for a forest,
When you know my heart lies not in the
Wilderness,
But by the insanity,
One would call my words.
For how could you be a soothing taste,
If my tongue has never tasted bitterness?
For how could you be a sweet melody,
If my ears were never deaf?

You are more than all these whimsical
Words,
These false promises and pretenses,
That lovers have rattled off to one another,
Once too frequently.

We both know,
That you lie in the words that I sculpt,
You are the image behind my artwork.
You lay like a phrase,
That pulls at my heart strings.
You fall somewhere between,
The tender thing I call my heart,
And the disastrous thing I call my mind.
Your touch,
Is when I write for hours,
With something churning in my soul,
Something I wish not to let go.
Your smile,
Is like mine,
I know,
Quite cocky of me,
To compare the turn of your beautiful lips,
To my dainty and simple ones,
But those dainty lips of mine,
Are ever so perfect,
Once my eyes meet the majesty of yours.

My darling,
If I were to say I love you,
It would be a lie,
Because love is a word thrown in every
Direction,
And I refuse to belittle you with that title.
So rather I tell you the truth,
You are my poetry.