As It Seems

As it is, I cannot seem to write poetry.
The pen skims across the surface of words that will not flow.
Their curves and dots will not dance across my page.
The metaphors and similes seem lost
And rhyme does not echo.

As it is, I cannot seem to write poetry.
I cannot describe the chocolate of your eyes
Or the crimson tide of your lips
In that beautiful prose I've come to love.

The paleness of your marble hands
And doubtful intensity of your gaze
Is lost on me and my words
The metaphor of your moon filled face and sun soaked smile
Does not grace this page

Instead,
It is dotted with
Eraser marks and
Broken lead

Because, as it is, I cannot seem to write poetry