To a Poet

[heslopian]

Was I wrong to think
Jealousy was born in your words
And not in me? Nicely conveyed sentiment.

Is your mind not the wave
I watch crash against the shallowness
Of those lips, the desert of a page? This rambles on a bit. Could it be trimmed to something like:

"Is your mind not a wave
which crashes against these shallow lips,
that desert page?"

I remember how you would talk
As I held
This very net
Over your voice Could this trio of three word lines be pushed together? Separating them has no real effect. I like the net metaphor.
Only to see the words scurry through the line. What line? A line on the desert of a page? If so you're mixing metaphors, as to me "desert" implies the page is empty.

They are the words I want
To take from your attic
And frame in my museum, in my cage of glass; Are both these metaphors needed? I like "cage of glass". I think that implies "museum" without you having to say it.

Where you leave them
Unprotected, swallowed by dust and fingerprints, I like "swallowed".
I have the rags and polish,
The marble pedestal, the space; "Marble pedestal" is good. Is "the space" needed?
Even a name for the room Is "a name for the" needed? Isn't just saying you have a room reserved for the words enough?
Where they would sleep
In my house.

If I had those words,
We would share orange juice and sit I like the specificity of "orange juice".
In the silence that comes
With finished labor every morning I don't understand this line. Surely if it's morning the labour hasn't begun?

Because
There would be
No more pens Could from "Because" to "pens" be made one line?
And hours chasing shadows
From a desk. This is a great line, but I think it would be more effective as one, bringing up "from a desk" to go after "shadows".

No more scratches. No need for erasers;
Only a camera to take their picture
So years from now
I could say "Remember when,"
And laugh. My favourite verse. Quietly, shimmeringly profound.

But instead,
I find your signature
Like fire in a dry wood Is "dry" needed?
And my photographs burn into dreams.

I will have to keep
My place at the desk.

There will be
No end to this work Could a comma go here?
To have my name
Stitched to your words,

No end to the search
To have this written
Before you have the chance
To put it away
For good. Hang on... I thought the narrator was putting the person the poem's addressed to's words away?

The poem is littered with wonderful lines, but they don't have much narrative cohesion. I'm confused as to what the poem is about beyond perhaps a series of generic observations on love and sadness. You have a way with metaphors, but could do with some practice at storytelling. JMO, of course, and thanks for the read.