Here is my true intention / inability:
capture your beauty in the whites between words.
I scribble words: egg, mountain.
Neither the creamy expanse of an egg in a pan
nor the peak of mountain in twilight
conjure the essence of you.
I’ve searched for stars in the dictionary.
And your brown eyes search me for answers.
I have none. I’ve scribbled out
attempts in red pen.
Only if I rise godlike out of body will I (perhaps)
in the sky simplify / complicate language enough
to describe your infinite(simal) beauty.
These plentiful dice roll combinations of words.
I don’t rise. I’m here beside you
wondering if I should utter my thoughts
like a prayer to you.
Then, years from now, maybe
I’ll guess what I said and write the poem then.
(originally published in Delphinium, Summer 2018)