If I Could

I would have written about you If I could still form words.

I have thought splendor about you, yet have always failed to write a verse.

I was in a void, sitting smitten, erasing for you everything I have ever written,

Committed to self-obliteration. 

I'd draw my blood out in hopes of poetry's creation.

Oh, What wouldn't I do?

I'd shed my skin to draw a portrait of yours, to be captivated by the view.

If you liked the colour brown, I'd pluck my eyes out and adorn them as jewels on your crown.

If my destruction brought you peace,

I'd cause my end, to exist, I would cease.