To Write Her Poem

the mob, the crowds, the rabbles rattle,
gossip swells amongst the prattle,
all the while he’s locked in battle,
to pin this elusive creature,
convey every facet, every feature.
digging into moons with brows damp,
the pen scribbles ‘til his palm cramps,
putting a seal on it, his heart’s stamp,
eschewing using the typewriter,
for this, a method far quieter.
stealing hours the other side of the sun,
words spiraling out like the bullets of a gun,
he commands, "write, ‘til the lexicon come undone!"
his crews assembled in rows unending,
the room emanating, the verses pending,
the man at work, a preposterous task,
to tap the finest wine from a buried cask,
and reveal the beauty beneath a mask,
he peels each layer from its shell,
to put in words beauty’s look, touch, and smell:

Her eyes were fastened on the one she chose
Her skin felt softer than the petals of a rose
Her heart burned bright the way neon glows
This is the one who is marrow to his bone
This is the one he has made his own