Like a Poet Would Do

Let me love you like a poet would do. Let me bite on the lid of my pen, thinking of you. Let me write you down on pieces of paper and scribble you down on the back of notebooks. Let me make sonnets to you and of you and fill your neck with haikus. Let me translate you into polyglot texts and use dictionaries to decipher you. Let me spill black coffee on my verses of you and delight in every bittersweet thought of you. Let me use metaphors to transform you into a mockingbird or a blanket or a fresh morning dew. Let me love you, so theatrically, so dramatically, let me be the moron of all the oxymorons I use to describe you. Let me engage in a long soliloquy trying to fathom you and then weep helplessly, existentially like Hamlet would do. Let me love you like a poet would do. Let me love you with so much further ado. Let me lose my senses and declaim my poetry to you, and then lose myself in a jazz-like catharsis, singing to you. Let me implode and explode into a million little words, and a million little worlds loving you, until I no longer am the poet.