Sunday, January 20, 2013


With the voice of a sweet spring bird and a smile like a morning lily
The sun dares not show its face in the night for it knows the beauty of your moonlit beaming
    Your heart’s beat is but the sweet soundtrack to my own smile
    Your delicate verbatim ethereality makes my reality
There's no more and no less you could offer

You fill every need with your whimsy and graceful soul
Ranging from cradle to coiffeur you make me whole.

And yet,

I’m left with more to forget
There’s a bereft inkling of airs misplaced in a doleful gape
I’m poet.
You’re ape. 

- B

This poem is open to interpretation. (If you interpret it to be about a guerrilla.)