by Marie de Foret

Created on: April 17, 2008

I could have painted you last night,
your hair settled so delicately on your forehead,
the shadows dancing on your collarbone.
But the brushes would not capture your graceful curves
and the paints would lack your firey essence.
The canvass would not contain your overflowing exuberance
And I, I could not imagine you so lifeless and still.

I could have serenaded you last night,
the notes pouring forth from my lips,
filled with helpless adoration.
But no music could do you justice, my dear,
and the notes fell flat upon my ears,
lacking in the complexity that is you.
And I, I could hardly speak,
for my throat was so constricted
with words better left unsaid.

I could have created poetry of you last night.
I was inspired by your thoughtless elegance,
your effortless ease with words.
I wish your smooth phrases
could so easily be mimicked by me
but I lacked the ability that is so instilled in you
and the words were not sufficient enough to describe you.
And I, I did not have the presence of mind
to perform such a task.

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