For "Her."
You are not my muse. She is one perfect –
A luminous goddess personified;
Bearer of soul and spirit sans defect,
And beauty I long to immortalize.
The words oft’ spin with Mercurian speed,
While verses roll easily off my tongue;
Her grace worth every drop of ink I bleed
To revere an angel from heaven sprung.
But, that Being is no more than a ghost;
Or perhaps some fantasy existing
Only in my mind; another dream lost
Come daylight, despite the heart’s insisting.
When love has
choked a fool with eloquence,
Art quickly sputters to
incoherence.