Shakespeare For A Minute

There was this minute
right between the rough draft and the final copy
when I was Shakespeare
I was Shakespeare like a sonnet like hitting and running 14 times
the words just sort of spilled forth, in pentameter anyway
page after page but the only thing they said was
I love you.
I was Shakespeare then, and Ginsberg and Marlowe and even JK Rowling
I was literature and poetry and every corner of the earth
conspiring to say just these two words
I was Mozart with a t in the middle and Beethoven and every power of the globe
Just waiting
terrified of being close but finding that the safest place
I know is that spot right between your shoulder and your chest
where my head fits, just right
and I was Shakespeare in that moment
I was every stupid love poem and story ever told
I was fighting through the grey and finding my way out
slowly but surely, all because of you
and oh god was I Shakespeare, writing reams inside my mind
trying to remember exactly what I said,
Willing myself to write but choosing instead
to enjoy the warmth of your arm
around me, willing you to stay there
just like that, perfectly preserve the moment
like you can never do on film,
streams and reams of consciousness flying at the speed of light
my socks falling down below my knees and wondering
if this is going to last
like Shakespeare wondered maybe
if anyone would come
pacing and waiting and hoping until suddenly
I was Shakepeare in that moment.


Or something. Don’t screw and slam. lessons learned.

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