If I Were a Poet

If I were a poet, I would say my flesh trembles at the invocation of your name. I would speak of all the fragrances that mirror you: the perfume of the opium, the breath of the mint, the ambrosia of the zephyr, and the petrichor of the night. I would praise you among the seraphs, and revere you among the imps.

If I were a prophet, I would invite your presence to my sermons. My people would fight wars for you, they would die for you, they would choose a life of rejection for you. I would write them scripture, distilling the purpose of life into its pages. And when they ask what its all for, I would simply speak your name.

If I were a ghost, I would haunt each home you inhabit. You would hear me rattle the foundation, and carry drafts through every furnace. The exorcists would awe at the strength of my resolve, a spirit they cannot banish. They would tell you they have met their match, a love that lurks in your living room.