To The Other Boleyn Girl

I thought to write you something last night.
But other, more poetic, words to say,
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you”,
would not come.

So I crossed out weak lines and discarded them.
Struck and left naked on the page
like days notched
that bring me closer to seeing you again.

Closing my eyes I secretly wished my abandoned
meager words would copulate-
Do a push-up or two-
Perhaps take a Thai kickboxing class-
And I, upon waking would be greeted with
brilliance.

But to no avail.

There they lie
and I as well
with no better thought than
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

So, in the end I am obliged to write a poem
about a poem
that never will exist
but for the space between
this constant meditation
on six little words
and my hand resting on your cheek.