I ain't a poet

I ain’t a poet, but if I were.
I’ll write a prose of the many tears I’ve shed over the lost of you as;
A torrent rain shower, beating down on the earth
Soaking, the parched ground;
Until the waters in the rivers overflow,
From the abundance of my salty, sad tears.

If I could coin a verse
I’ll write how much it hurts
To be absent of your touch,
Hungry for your taste, sightless without your face,
And  aches without your embrace.
How I’m suffocating;
Without the very AIR of you
That fills my lungs.

If I were a rhymester
I’ll rhyme how the sharp shards
Of my broken heart
Pierces me with each sadden
Rhythmic beat, while it oozes
out my life’s essence,
through the splintered pieces.

If I had the craft of a bard
I’ll write a story telling the world of our love.
How with a sweet kiss, you woke me from the sleep of the lonely.
And you held my hand to led me through the forest of Sweet Bliss
Until we came to the kingdom of Pleasures,
You  the King, made me your Queen of ecstasy,
Only to leave me trapped in your dungeon of anguish.

But I ain’t a poet
Just a woman of no words to describe how I’m drowning in tears from a broken heart.