Wine and chocolates
Flowers and books
Doe eyed innocence and lipstick stained looks
Rain pouring in the summer horizon
Spring air scents in the month of autumn
Memories swept by October winds chilling into December mornings
I create metaphors that never made sense
Hoping you’ll give me the proper lessons
Because based from personal experiences
You are the master of crafty and enthralling word play
You Don’t need allusions or redundant hyperboles
You were born with a pen in hand
Ordinary five year olds would doodle sun faces
While you scribbled your first verses
Blue skies and swinging doors
Gray clouds and noisy swing sets
I make little to no sense with my choice of sentences
I would need my own dictionary to understand my structure
There is no title, too many or not enough lines
I didn’t write words, I turned them into sketches
My illusions and delusions need illustrations
Someone save my monologue, let it never be spoken
Fix the damage left from a previous composition
Because I don’t have a piece, I have a week old conversation
I can only offer my lips, my hands and my chest
My shoulders, my neck and my eyes
For you to teach me inspiration
God knows I have no idea where to find it
