Epiphany: a Poet In Love

Did Shakespeare ever fall in love? A rose by any other name would stink as sweet! What would Y'eshua say if indeed Magdalene was his favorite disciple? What miracles would he impress her with So as to savor her forbidden apple? O woman! Is that why god made you last of all nature's enviable beauty? If before he said let there be light You were the first thing his devine eyes saw I bet creation would have been a different theory altogether. If love at first sight was a figure of speech Then I swear I love you like a metaphor And your smile is a typo They meant to say a simile I will kiss your face like a blank page And my lips will be the tip of my pencil Drawing drooling hieroglyphs like the hand of god Inscribing Ten Commandments of Love On the tablets of your breasts Because my name is Moses A stammerer on a voyage to save a lonely soul From the shackles of cynicism On love affairs. I would love to laugh while making rough love to you On the dark floor of my solitude cell Where torn pages of amatuerish poems lay as a carpet Because you are my words: Maybe your face is the sky And your eyes are the stars Maybe your laughter is a symphony Of a million harps from a million virgin angels I have written about love a million times And still you remain elusive A mystery Are you an acrostic; So each letter tells your tale? Maybe a couplet or limerick? Are you a sonnet? Or a ballad? Or a metre without a rhyme? Maybe you are a mere syllable I mumble at every sudden ******. Your body is a symmetry of regular ryhthm Consumate from five to seven And back to five Haiku: Japanese poets should build a pedestal for you And all lustful lads Should come and slink the slank at your feet Indeed lady, Your gait and pride and smell of shaven armpits and eyeballs might make a eunuch have an ******** And that to me Is amorous injustice! Tell me, What can a scribe do? When all I write about is human weakness And wickedness? When writing to me is an escape from adjectives I can't utter over a cup of coffee? To me, The strand of your hair alone Deserves atleast umpteenth stanzas of praise A prerequisite. If I say I love you Will you giggle at my palpability? Why bore you with parables When all you yearn for is a touch And forever? I will say no more.