Poem. Looking for a Lover.

If I could deliver a rose, remind you of me every day,

fashion your face with my fingers, tenderly sculpt you in clay,

if I could imagine your touch, disturbing the still of the lake,

and study your artistic face, distinguishing you from a fake.

I’d be guilty as I stand here accused, in finding I have no defence,

rewriting my dire composition, in the hope I can alter the tense.


I’m finding I pause when you pass, tasting your balm on the breeze,

feeling my arteries pulsing, the feed to my heart soon to cease.

When the blush in the fields stand tall and the scent it appears to be yours,

my poetry stutters and dries, whilst the words and the rhyme take a pause.

I am guilty my darling I am and continue to yearn and to pine,

please acknowledge my romantic effort, respond to my want and be mine.