Tell me about your love

Who inspired all these poems

I read, day after day;

Give me her identity in the crudest terms,

Name, age, background, habits, picture,

Come on, what do you say?

True, a certain amount of privacy

Is the social reality of love’s rarest poetry,

But as one who writes anguished love poetry, too,

As a lover first, a poet, second, can I get this information from you?

Love is the highest curiosity there is,

And as long as there is curiosity, there is hope;

So I’m curious, also as a poet, since the poet should be curious, too,

And since you admire my poetry, perhaps my request will not seem rude?

Beethoven composed on long ramblings.

Can you see him? Slowing, then stumbling on the trail

As he first glimpses in his heart that melody unable to fail?

We know he was a composer first. Heartbreak, that dark path,

His music didn’t walk down. Inspiration is the highest calling.

Show me her picture. Just one picture. I want to see if I laugh.







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