I thought to write you a song
confessing my desires,
unwrapping my corpse to reveal what lay beneath,
what hallows and corners could hide.

But when I thought to write these lyrics
I thought to make you smile,
I thought to light your eyes with pride
and ten fold my feelings,
but I am not so gifted.

I took a ball of molding clay
I shaped and punctured,
searching for a soft sounding word,
a simple tickle of tongue,
that music you search for,
bound to.

But all I could sculpt was the same
dead face of a shadow,
the shadow of my talents
now lost to a need I can't fulfill,
a statuette of remorse that should have been a kiss.

A kiss I stole,
and locked away from you,
from who it should belong to.
How deceptive music truly is,
masking the words with beating cocaine,
vibrated messages to decorate a thought.

So I give you what I can.
Not a beautiful sculpture of the Moonlight Sonata,
but a dead leaf of green,
with a small confession scribbled between its veins.

"I'm falling in love with you."

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