Image for the poem Though I May Try ... There is No Perfect Place nor Time to Love You

Though I May Try ... There is No Perfect Place nor Time to Love You


When I first wrote my name on your body

it was as a child would.

Grabbing every crayon from the box.

Trees were purple and blue.
Grass was orange.
The sky yellow.
The dog red.

Didn't understand the lines and curves I slalomed over aimlessly
with my broad strokes.

I needed to feed my ego.

Not my soul.  

My tongue poking out and wrapped tight around my upper lip
because I wanted to prove I could master this creation.

Nonetheless you guided me patiently.

Life weathered hands cupped my face to steer my eyes.

I inhaled your musk letting it drape my throat.

Ignoring my hubris.

The soft slopes of your body

were not defined by the lines
of Gauguin nor Degas.

You tried to teach me this
as you pealed back your supple layers
turning another page.

I foolishly ripped it.

Turned again

ripped again.



Reckless though I was

you let me lay beside you.
Plucking the caramel of your skin
and the cinnamon dusted over it
as a boy would.

Lying on your side I saw your true form

Your hips ripe and full
imbued with the strength of ebony
not the meek ramblings of a blown dandelion.  

The concentric circles of your breasts
giving flight to my infinite dreams
feeding my hapless soul.

I listen to your heart
and it says you still want me to stay
though others lay lies like train tracks
between us.

So I'll put away the crayons
and use my spine for a quill

trying to define the undeniable that is


Written by LobodeSanPedro
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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