I Could, Yet

I could paint you the way a man would

the brutish, harsh lines that cut across your features

flat, unseeing orbs that gawk at both everything and nothing

I could write you the way a man would

the coy, tantalizing touch that drips with poisoned honey

flawless, translucent skin that resembles a serpent before a woman

I could film you the way a man would

the effortless, breathy gasps that plead for mercy and rescue

sultry, beguiling dances that bewitch even the noblest heroes

Yet I would rather love you 

the way I should

honestly,

naïvely, 

wholeheartedly,

the only way I could.