The Great Lover

Earlier in the year, we were instructed to take a poem of Rupert Brooke's as an example and write a similar poem of our own. Here's mine.

The Great Lover
These I have loved:
Musical notes on paper, ovals hanging from lines
A mess when written, a masterpiece when played;
The distant hum of the highway, where varied vehicles
With different destinations play the same song;
The inner sense of unbridled musical passion,
Keeping the beat in your mind and your feet;
The instrument in your hand, cold at first touch,
Then warm in your grip as you yearn to incite
The vibration and the resonance without holding back;
Air sweeps cinnamon from the candle especially for me,
Its tantalizing sting has my nose addicted;
And as the pillow captures and cradles my lazy head,
The purified scent of clean sheets
Will have me lay there forever;
My mouth suffers to fully savor the flavor of warm pastries,
But the silky milk is more delicious
As it cleans my throat soon after;
The night sky, mostly plain and dull,
Unceasingly attracts my eyes and my thoughts
With the wonder brought on by its dark emptiness;
Almost as satisfying is the fresh smell of the grass,
Which feels so sharp, yet soft as I lay upon it;
The crickets manage to irritate and calm me
At the same time with their unrelenting, alluring chirps;
The banana, with its creamy flavor released
After being smashed with my tongue and teeth,
Is perhaps the most stunning of all,
To think that nature could produce something
So pleasurable and unique confounds me;
An uncommon, unnoticed essence
Somehow always seems to dim the others,
Not seen, heard, tasted, or smelled,
Not even felt, at least not physically,
Secluded silence, the most perplexing presence,
Is only there because nothing else is,
Its lack of senses invites me to create my own.
With it, a whole new world unfolds
Right on top of the spectacular one before us;
All these have been my loves.