Let me just write love poems to you, Darling.
Let me pen acrostics in your name.
As the homing pigeon and the starling,
As the gaslight finds its open flame,
Let the pages fly to you unfettered
And unread by eyes that refuse to see
That, in sweetness, they have all been bettered
By a length of depth's magnanimity.
And if in that furlong some cosmic tale
Be told, may you, Muse, be the man you are.
May all the happy endings be to scale,
And all my pinings never leave a scar.
Should I write the tribbulets you inspire?
Or wad them crumpled, throw them on the fire?
Let me pen acrostics in your name.
As the homing pigeon and the starling,
As the gaslight finds its open flame,
Let the pages fly to you unfettered
And unread by eyes that refuse to see
That, in sweetness, they have all been bettered
By a length of depth's magnanimity.
And if in that furlong some cosmic tale
Be told, may you, Muse, be the man you are.
May all the happy endings be to scale,
And all my pinings never leave a scar.
Should I write the tribbulets you inspire?
Or wad them crumpled, throw them on the fire?
-jenn long
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