A poem on unrequited longing

Please,

please,

please,

grasp my waifish waist firmly
and let me gaze upon your eyes
as they smile.

Your Cupid’s Bow is whisper-singing sweet sonnets;
your lips aren’t moving
but my heart hears their song and intones it in reply.

My guts are wrung in tight tangles
as I recall how she treated you.

Did you ever love before her?
Have you loved since?
Have your hands ever known the heft
of a heart full of love?
Have they ever held one, truly?

She was no genuine Angel

after all

and I’d wager you never really
cradled her heart in your palms
as I’d have you do with mine.

My name may not conjure imagery
of cherubs or lacy blooms

and yet

if you let me I will show you
the delicacy and tenderness I possess.
A benignity I fear you may never before
have been granted.

Let me trace my softest finger
along the contours of your saturnine features.
Let me show you what it is to be cherished ever so
that you feel a fullness swell against your ribcage
such that you have never known.