My lover wishes I were Billy Collins,
that I could shape words with his carefree
elegance, describe the beauty of her face,
her eyes, not mentioning, of course,
bifocal lenses or crow's feet
caused by squinting
from not wearing aforementioned
glasses. She'd like me to pen lyrical
couplets that praise the sculpture
of her body, shaving off excess pounds
she always talks about losing,
smoothing out cellulite, lifting
anything that sags. She wants me to craft
a poem that's clever yet deep, passionate
yet thoughtful, spontaneous yet rhythmic;
she wants this though I am a mere limerick
among sonnets, fumbling with words
that spill gracefully from other mouths;
she wants this
but settles for me instead.
(c)Bill Glose
from The Human Touch, 2007
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