I heard on this poetry video, on youtube (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpVLLq7KQyE), that “your poetry starts when you start telling the truth,” this poem is full on truth. I wrote this about that feeling when , and you almost fall in love, with his physical features. So please be gentle with the feedback, because this is my real first poem. So here we go:
When I saw him across the room, I felt like my feet had been taken from me, and had been replaced with soft and fluffy marshmallows. As if they had just been set ablaze during a fall night. Marshmallows like the clouds in a clear blue sky, limitless to gravity, and the world, pure and barely there.
I watched him talk to the surrounding persons, he beamed the heavens opened up and glimmered down on me from the deepest depths of his soul, if I should be so lucky.
I studied his face, like I was in the library at three am, studying for a final in biochemistry, and I slept through the entire semester. His face looked like God had reached down personally to chisel in every one of his features, just for my eyes to admire. If I would be so blessed that God could favor me so much, to have him in my presence.
There I stood, a wide-eyed child at Disney Land for the very first time, as he shifted the room, when he graced the floor with his feet, around the room from table to table. I took mental notes as fate and the world converged at the wrinkle of his brow, when deep in conversation.
And when he laughed. It sounded like the most beautiful thunder, that God himself made into a symphony of His joy. His joy that he crammed into a mason jar, compacted so tight that when bursts, it bellows through your soul and knocks the wind straight out of your lungs.
His smile was the sunshine in Seattle, after all the rain clouds have been swept aside, nobody was ready for that brightness that came down, the warmth that it brought. His skin was marble, smooth, and beautiful like the softest fabric that could ever grace mine.
I thought if I could just swindle one look, so that moment could be forever etched in my mind, frozen in one moment where I saw heaven deep in the pools of milk chocolate that were his eyes. He would look into mine; seeing beauty at it’s rawest form, so pure as if it was fresh snow in the middle of December or dew along the grass early one summer morning. He would see the future right there deep in the depths of my soul.
If I only he would look my way, and if he did. I would listen to every word he had to say, barely talking. Just listening, savoring the velvet notes of his voice as the bounced through my eardrums, and boomeranged in my head for all of infinity.