Your words are beautiful.
the way you paint them
tie descriptions around waterfalls
walk us through frowning mirrors and smothered air
and then auction them off to our fondest senses
touching us gently enough to resurrect imagination
you have talent and you know it
cracking open heaven so that we may feel what it’s like to sleep on top of clouds
or rightly discern what a tear drop taste like
for we glide along in the melting pot of your splendor
but your words do not live
nor do they bring forth life
I can hear the sirens of an acrylic woman drowning in her own salt water
Can you help her?
Will your words assist her in their beauty?

Your words suck the breath from our lungs with its daintiness
the Picasso of poems
a hanging Mona Lisa of walking glamour
but what I see
are lynched portraits
pretending to swing delicately from the trees you attached them to
a jump rope fantasy of tree houses and hopscotch
I can smell the sizzling fragrance from miles away
But beauty is just simply not enough for me
I need to know that before time hugs my flesh
Before the grave diggers begin their song
Can I count on your words to CPR me into its arms?
Or perhaps
I’ll just remember how beautiful you are….