Seek to love first rather than understand
For faith is a virtue your lover demands
Hurricane tides and nomadic dreams
Innumerable changes in fluctuating seas
Flowers sent first, prior to meeting
Hand held back, coy, her passions receding
Oh, but her youth, so brief and so tender
Like reckless and wilting roses you sent her
Maybe she’ll change? Maybe she’ll listen?
Could I be a god in her damn religion?
May I be Bonhoeffer when your Hitlers rise?
Could I be your Jesus or your Anti-Christ?
But this—this is poison, her potent hemlock
She’ll rest, peacefully, while I wrestle sleepwalk
Drug me tonight—again, again, and again
I’m spent on you; have no hope left to mend
Take all you will; I’m distant and drunken
I, Leaning Pisa; and you, Tower of London
Roses I’ve sent for various reasons
A poet’s regret is a literary artesian
And who am I to be sending her blossoms?
A ghost lingering ‘round her mind so colossal
Surely she knows that I am mere human?
Dead words on my page, while her body’s my music…
Why not take a chance? Why not share a moment?
Are you really so cold? and I, so fatefully boring?
Your beauty makes poems rain in my head
Floodwaters and rhymes have left me for dead
Should I charge you for murder on numerous counts?
Will you offer salvation? Grace—just an ounce?
Am I not worth saving, if only for rhymes?
For you, rewrite Shakespeare in four lovely lines
But you’re just a girl with a heart made of foam
Poets, like myself, your naiveté dethrones
So long brazen mistress; I’ve done what I could
I’ll rest my pen while tears write of you
Written by: Moses Y. Mikheyev
Dedicated to K.