The poetry of love

If only love was like poetry,
though words fail me sometimes,
they fail not this relentless waiting
a meiosis, for dawn to dusk.

If only love was like poetry,
Though my thoughts may run
On- at least there's eternity in paper,
Not your momentous haiku-ed love.

If only love was like poetry,
though cacophony and dissonance reign,
they spare the euphemism of your-words-
and-mind, an oxymoron.

If only love was like poetry,
Though mayhap the persona eludes me,
At least it hides in places I can find-
Damn your soliloquy.

If only love was like poetry,
Though pathos swarm the woebegone,
Truer than your epigrams,
Cajolery, your epithet.

If only love was like poetry,
Though there be chaotic vers libre,
Odes and sonnets harmonise,
And euphony is the lovers' song.

If only love was like poetry,
Though hushed maybe, unspoken words,
Drown the onomatopoeia of your lies,
And truths- Bombast! Absurd!

And yet our love is poetry,
In nights when burlesques cloak my mind,
And hyperbole star-moonshine
Chant your litotes, mock benign-

.....................Of a not-very-love love.


(have been indulging in this kind of crappy word games lately, mugging must be screwing up the wiring in my brain. haha. And my portfolio is still thread-bare.)