Some poets write poems about poems,
but for me to write a poem today,
an ode, let’s say,
dedicated to some long-forgotten epic from ages past,
would seem more an exercise than an expression.
As I despise exercise,
I’ll write instead about your face
which I see here on the inside of my eyelids each time I blink.
Some sing songs of themselves,
as they stride confidently through life,
but there’s not much for me to sing in that regard
other than how much I need to hold your face in my two hands
and see myself reflected in your eyes,
the only time I like the way I look.
Some tell epic tales of journeys ‘round the world,
of sailing ‘cross the seven seas
or crossing deserts on camel-back.
My travels all have one single goal, one common destination.
I trek across a dreamscape to wherever you may be,
wherever I may see your smile,