If I could put you in a song
How sweet 'twould be to sing along
With a verse of you
Its introduction would detail your smile
Tender and warm, gentle, inviting
A perfect measure of good and new
What instrument could, with proper poise,
Bear resemblance to the dulcet tones of your voice
And not belie the intelligence of your words?
Is there a rhythm possible through which, with deft appeal,
One could inhabit an unencumbered feel
Of the sense of anticipation I felt.
The nervous tics, the idle prattle
Fear of tipping a hand or coming on too strong,
A drumbeat to corroborate the pulse of a heartbeat blurred.
How grand a challenge to match rhymes to your face
To seek, with grace, rhymes not commonplace that embrace
With every phrase the warmth obtained from a gaze upon your beauty
The movement of melody would trace the curves of your lips
Sweetly rising, gently bowing, the touch of which
To taste a kiss must sing your melody da tutti
Upon the harmony, every voice would speak of your body
Each chord unto itself a ballad of your skin
So soft and fair, the external framework of the reality of you
And betwixt the two, could counterpoint rightly outline
The space and shape of ourselves intertwined
In each other's arms.
The full presence of self, bereft of the passage of time,
Each moment spent in embrace an isolated description
Of how what was could be if what was could be.
Alas, no key or form or timbre has strength to compare
To the divinity of charm encompassed in your eyes and hair
The hues alone infuriate all other colors for their uniquity
And the chorus would endeavor with the noblest of zeal
An illustration of your soul, the essence which, to me, you revealed
The core of yourself, or what I could see
If could but one song define the spirit of your personality
Would I be the one bestowed the honor of crafting your symphony
I'd sing for thee endless refrains unto the skies
But the time we shared, lamentably brief though plethoric of life,
Is but a narrative of the experience of you, and not sufficiently rife
With erudition of the entirety of your being.
Any draft from my pen, divined over thousands of lifetimes of exploration,
Would but besmirch your truth, fail to rhapsodize your allure into score,
My enigma with the blue-green eyes.
—Andrew Esquer, 08/27/16