Would You Still Love Me?

Tonight my ink is mute and this quill rests in silence. I’m searching for the perfumed poem you’ve placed in my aching soul, when I found a home within your aesthetic embrace, whilst, the honeyed tip of your silvery voice sketched a sea of flower-patterned stars, across somber skies, whispering sweet carols to the evening sun that wanes and slumbers within crestfallen dahlias. Was I ever a poet before I saw initials of your celestial name scribbled in violet vines across the pearl face of the blue moon? I never knew words can weigh heavier than dancing diamonds glazed in gold, Until I heard your riveting rhymes echo rose tinted tunes of lilac feathered longing. I love you for the way you thaw frost kissed petals into streaks of pomegranate prose- flowing in crystalline compassion. I love you for the way you’ve painted faceless ghosts of my bitter cold past with acrylic glitter, showing me that every thunder-struck meadow can grow greener blades of faith. I love you for soothing lucid nightmares crawling within darkness to suffocate my bleeding ink. How you’ve held my onyx heart while I struggled to weave silken threads from emerald tears of angst. But how can I harmonize the gravity of your spoken serenades that linger across this cosmic canvas? Must I steal every jewel from its rightful sphere, just so that you can see vibrant colors of vehement verses, reflecting through all that which flickers? Would you feel me if these metaphors no longer flow in coherence? Would you be the Emperor to my throne of darkness even if I am just an Empress without a crown? What if I were nothing but a blurred black dot across a constellation of chaos? Would you still love me If I wasn’t a poet? Maybe these questions will forever remain as endless equations within fractions of no closure. So tomorrow, if there’s no wind that can carry these unsent letters to you, remember my heart is yours till we meet our unwritten tales, before the last twinkling twilight fades into sheer nothingness. And I will still love you even if butterflies would betray the fragrance of our undying romance.