643 and 648

I’ve taken up too much of your good time

to tell you what I think of you. I pray

that this has been my most offensive crime,

and that the words don’t overstress their stay.

But know that with great brevity I spoke,

and you’ve been spared a filibuster’s hour.

This moment all my heart must now invoke,

for any longer would its impact sour.

And if sour is how you must see me,

then sour with my best flourish of your praise

shall be what I will always, curséd, be

in your mind when my memory you raise.

Go now, be free, be all you wish to be;

but now you know a little more of me.

~~~

I’ll never know, O muse, why you depart

when I enjoy the most each word you say,

and every brushstroke of your boundless art

you daub and tint while you come out my way.

But I have learned enough to know that I,

however coarse, do not offend your ease

in being nigh, in being so closeby,

I’ve learned it is not me that can’t appease.

But fly you must, for art knows no address.

You will not be located by the man

who goes where you were last seen—there is less

of you there than where his journey began.

For wanting you is where you are most oft.

You find us there, if e’er our hearts are soft.