Maybe that was the last one,
maybe it was my last poem
I wrote the words that I feared
to utter in her presence
The consonance, assonance, and
hyperbole all misguided thoughts
I tried to rhyme with words that
described perfection
I wrote artistic words on a girl
meant to rule the world
I wrote of a curb, a princess,
and a queen all in one
I mentioned some of the utmost
feelings of gratitude and love
I expressed both the little
sentiments and hidden feelings
I watched the smoke paint words
of promise on the warm night
I felt the shudder, fright, the
fear spreading through the mornings
The cold utterances and gazes
were all fading away
I was unafraid of a life I hadn’t
started living yet
She was a masterpiece and I
worshipped her mere work
She was my last piece, the only
piece that could fix me
I was supposed to feed on her
beauty to survive
So I prayed to the gods for a day
with their goddess
I wrote my final poetic piece
with tearful sentiments
I gave out the remaining pieces
of my heart in her demand
I scribbled the words of love,
pain, hope, and unwavering guilt
I asked, maybe begged for only a
feel of her taste
And I wrote the last poem and
watched it burn me
