Last Poem

Imagine a face that holds with it a chance to heal an empty poets heart- Once filled now remade
So full with detail from every glimmer in her eye
You know you have absolutely no chance
She is the most beautiful woman in the United States of the World...
Making sense is highly overrated
Who cares about poetry when shes alive?
Maybe I will never write another line
I would easily cast aside my pen for a lifetime if it means I'm beside her
She is every sonnet ever written
She is the reason songs were invented
I'll make sure she never feels alone
By writing her my very first and last poem

e.w.