Inept
I could write a thousand words
and still fail to capture your
absolute beauty.
A thousand verses of sublime
rhyme and fall short of the
intent of my love for you.
A thousand dreams in the
glittering of stars, all is
nought to where you take
me.
And the love song that I write
would only emulate the
beating of this heart, a long
slow pulse of absence.
I take the hand of my muse
in thought and feeling, ever
to caress that day when I
first said I loved you.
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