if I wrote poetry I'd write a poem for you
really.
soaring moments of verse
I'd say:
lets leave prose to more practical folk
economy of words should be left to the plain janes of the world, the sad sally's, the cost effective ericas
And I'd speak of dark things, musty things, rooms soaked with scents, smoked with cigars
I'd make a list. sunsets, angry crows. clean scars. cars with million barely lost memories.
images we try to unremind ourselves of. images we keep close to our hearts.
I'd say that every unreasonable thought I have is your possession, every costly sentiment yours to hold
a catastrophic debt of my wiley ways, my deserving unpredictabillity

I am not that girl.

See, if truth were told,
as I always prefer it be (being a practical young lass)
I prefer:
prose to verse
stark to flower
the bright sun to a softlight overcast

nothing highlights my dilemma more

nonetheless, every disjointed romantic sentiment I grasp to ...posess
is yours