The Borrowed Voice

Can I be the poem and not the poet?
Let you write your love in bold letters
The wishes you shout on shooting stars,
Let me drink and dine at your table setting
With roses and petals picked from your gardens.

You harvest your love in ancient trees
Ploughed and planted in fertile soils
I'm lost in your pathless forests with a goose
Bumping butterflies to the walls of my intestines
I stand to wave my flags cut from white cloths.

From the peak of the tallest mountains
Your voice echoes across Pacifics
To the cold ears in Antarcticas
Heating up the igloos in my heart
You melt the glaciers of love, I'm left sinking.

I use your name to test all my pens
The back of each book reminds me of you
Each page holds a footnote of your initials
And every story is told from your view,
I'm glued to the pages you scripted on.