Small but Deep as Much

Whenever we talk, I can't sleep at night.
It's fine. I'm awake with the stars.

It's full hearty, full hearty to imagine
that you could get all the smoke from me
and the mirrors,
the superficial attention that I could spike with a substance of love
so I'd be your cake and your frosting.

Sneaking in with the guise of a flower
but really having the love of the Lord.
You could take my smell and my spirit too.

All the other men are tougher, more suave.
They lead you through a tango
that always ends,
but you love the turns.
I can't lead you in a dance.
I just write for hours.

But make my poetry pretty.
Make this enough.
In between each line is a nylon stellarsphere, not white empty space.

These are words.
Your words are nectar.
Could my words tend to you?
And we can fall between the lines
and if you trust me,
when you see again in the morning
you were all the breathe of my night,
could you think of me kind?