I wish I could write poetry like Shakespeare in love.
I am humbled by the depth of his beautiful words,
envious of his ability to create passion with his quill,
and wistful, unable to express my love with equal fire.

I seek to match him with phrases that roll easily off my tongue,
manifesting images of leaves spinning into fables,
orchid blossoms flowing through my veins and
lilac bushes fanning the blush off her skin.

I envision our bodies stretched breath to shallow breath
over plush hillsides tinged with her laughter,
I inhale the fragrance of her lips
and recline into the quilt of her essence.

I discover that the space into which my love unfolds
follows the channel into her heart.
I explore the songs that resonate within me
until my music vibrates the stars.

I savor her in a lifetime of narration and
ponder the poetry that I have penned.
I may not have forged a Shakespearean sonnet, but,
I believe that I have fashioned a play.

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