Them

The poet : Beloved, you are perfect.
You seem the craft of a patron of artisans.

He : But my poet, why ?
Why make me a statue ? I walk and think and breathe.
Why make me divine ? None belongs in a Pantheon.
Have you not seen my body ? I have marks.
Have you not seen my face ? The shape is off.
Have you not seen my language ? It is crude.
I live ungraceful, in so many ways.
Clumsy and stupid, that is what humans can be.

The poet : None I know is as splendid as you. 
I shall paint you eternal, you, whom I dreamed.

He : But my poet, is your head neighbour of a star ?
Please, make not a grove of a clover,
Grief of my departure, a god of a lover.
My poet, my love, do not say forever.
You will love me, and you will leave me ;
Memory cycles, love molts, my love.
Let me go, and I will fly, I will grow.

The poet : Your weaknesses, I shall not see.
Why see the truth when you blind me ?

He : But my poet, deep down I hate, I despise.
Paint this, my poet ! I am, and am my flaws.
I know pettiness, can say : "You annoy me".
Arrogance, doubt, and fear.
Would I you sung how I breathe as I whimper,
How I devour my nails in anguish,
How my lips disform with my heart ?
How my voice soars when I shout ?
How regal I am when calm, how imperial in fury ?
How I push you away when I feel disconnection ?
How unsightly my cries ! Tears are not precious gems.

The poet : You are my life, will be my death.
We are destined, sweetest.

He : But my poet, my love, I detest you.
Half of the me you see is pure fantasy.
The picture you draw is one color.
Others have drawn the same,
Others have thrown out the same words.
Think me not exceptional. 
Think not so highly of what you wrote !
Let it be ; if you love me, just embrace me.

Author's Note

I was more or less inspired to write this after I stumbled upon another poem, whose author wanted someone to paint her as royal, or divine, and whatnot. The back-and-forth form was inspired by Mahmoud Darwish and his poem "She/He", though, in his poem, both voices give a substantial discourse, whereas in mine, the poet is just spouting pairs of misguided verses that He promptly criticizes.

I feel that those poems, those describing the loved one, look too much alike, and all paint an exaggerated, unrealistic, love-blinded portrait of a real person. Hence my attempt to adress this.

Well, if I ever find myself with someone, I'll force myself to follow my own guidelines ! Bad sides, defects, they can be beautiful, and ought to be expressed, too.