Prayer of the Last White Knight

O Lord your most unworthy son
requests this boon of you:
that if she will not yield,
then let my suit be writ well
in the heart of her whom I love.
Let each line be read with gentle mirth.
Let each deed dared for her sake
be a token of her worth.
Let love exalt even as I am humbled.
Let love be a comfort
when she cannot find her face.
And may my eyes, having caressed
every plane and every pore of it,
never touch that face again.

Waltz

if this is goodbye
then I'll make it a good one
I'll smile and wish you well
shelving my sadness

it's the last in a series
of well-meaning hurts after all

if it's another pause in
our endless dance
i'll take this chance--
to rest bruised feet
and aching shins

and maybe later I won't
trip over my own feet or
step on your toes or squeeze
your delicate hands too tightly

I've bungled all the steps,
pulled you to me, released you
out of time

this isn't a waltz sometimes--
it's a fight.

but I still want to dance with you