to my vampire lover
sometimes
you make me angry
i'd just love
to shove
garlic
down your throat
and stake you
beneath a blood red moon,
yet i know i
never could
because
no matter how furious
you make me
i believe in a thing
called love;
and i'd never stopped
nor will i ever
even if you can't love
me, even if you
killed me
i could never haunt you—
because i love
you, and that's why i
let you shove me
away because sometimes
when you love someone you have to
let go even if i could never let you go.
the sweetest song
if i could set the moon
on fire
i'd let the embers
dance the
balm of your name
against my flesh
to weep with the willows,
and perhaps
you think lucy a little too
sentimental;
maybe i am,
but rose petals could never
kiss me with the
fragrance
of your laughter or cry
me the petals
of your soft lips—
if the stars were mine i'd
give them all to you
so darkness would
never shroud you with it's
crown,
and i wish you could see
no matter how
bad you think you are for me
you're the one that
makes my soul sing the sweetest.
Linda M. Crate is a poet and writer born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myraid of magazines. Her novel Amethyst Epiphany is forthcoming from Assent Publishing. You can follow more of her work here: https://www.facebook.com/
sometimes
you make me angry
i'd just love
to shove
garlic
down your throat
and stake you
beneath a blood red moon,
yet i know i
never could
because
no matter how furious
you make me
i believe in a thing
called love;
and i'd never stopped
nor will i ever
even if you can't love
me, even if you
killed me
i could never haunt you—
because i love
you, and that's why i
let you shove me
away because sometimes
when you love someone you have to
let go even if i could never let you go.
the sweetest song
if i could set the moon
on fire
i'd let the embers
dance the
balm of your name
against my flesh
to weep with the willows,
and perhaps
you think lucy a little too
sentimental;
maybe i am,
but rose petals could never
kiss me with the
fragrance
of your laughter or cry
me the petals
of your soft lips—
if the stars were mine i'd
give them all to you
so darkness would
never shroud you with it's
crown,
and i wish you could see
no matter how
bad you think you are for me
you're the one that
makes my soul sing the sweetest.
Linda M. Crate is a poet and writer born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania yet raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, articles, and reviews have been published in a myraid of magazines. Her novel Amethyst Epiphany is forthcoming from Assent Publishing. You can follow more of her work here: https://www.facebook.com/
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