I’ll never be an artist,
rock star,
or an MC
with the telepathy
to sway the masses;
a model
with a face that passes
for something more than average
worth the click,
shutter flashes
to the right of limelight passage;
I’m not
as smooth
as tap dancin’ jazz is
truth is,
my practice
needs practice
in all areas –
but loving you

I’d like to be a prodigy
with the talent to
chase your soul
through its gauntlet
of insecurities,
tugging chords of tension
to trust again,
past the scars
of failed relationships
with jesters attempting to be lovers.

Let it be known
that loving you
is the only thing
I’d like to be a natural at.
I’m not an acrobat,
I can’t somersault
this body of mine
into a heart like yours,
not even for a Klondike bar;
but I’m insane enough
to be your stuntman
if you let me.


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