I’ve written sonnets
to your skin
and ballads inspired
by the movement
of your body,
but my words don’t compare
to the want
my heart invokes
at the sound of your name.
I have penned poetry
in honor of your smile
and stories
about the set line
of your jaw,
but the words fall flat
like an airless balloon
by a precocious child.
I can list your beauties
or your faults
but the words
turn to weapons
against a heart
void of understanding.

One thought on “Void

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