(Spring 2023 S. Gordden Link Poetry Contest Honorable Mention) 

If you love me, I can’t guarantee your name written in sand.
My pen won’t just float and glide, with the ease
of a nonchalant hand.
My art won’t create your legacy among the stars,
No, men far greater and far more valuable than I
will accomplish that.

I cannot give Prometheus’ fire to a light lost.
You won’t be analyzed on canvas,
the beautiful creases of your mouth forever a curiosity
On the brain of naive bystander.
Your body won’t be sculpted to the form of Venus
and mused on forever,
Denoting the very 6 fruits of freedom,
in favor of your lushes locks and the curls that fall to
shoulders.

If you love me your essence won’t sparkle in the midnight sky,
becoming acquainted with the gods and the stars, before you die.
your name won’t cross the melodies of folksongs and lore,
your death won’t be monumentalized and romanticized
and memorialized in every form.

The grazing of our cheeks won’t be interesting in alabaster,
because I could never find a way to make
your flaws sound beautiful,
reason is too much the master.

No, If you love me I will never be able to keep your name alive
while your body dies, or make our love something that will
arouse tears in the eyes
of the viewers, create unification of familial strife,
or become signified,
symbolized,
re-iterized,
and clichéd.

If you love me, I will never make a grand entrance just in time
you will never find me outside your window.
You’ll only find your reflection—sitting and waiting,
and you will be disappointed by what you find.
I can promise you, I have nothing to promise.
I can guarantee no guarantee,
but if you love you, you will love me.
And your hand will write your own name
in things much more important than legacy.

The sand will glide, the sand will wash away—
but your eyes will like what grains of words could never convey.
A freedom of the soul that never decays.