I wrote you a poem
I knew one was owing
It had to ring true and spell out how you are
You don't have a poetic bone in your body
So demanding your interest
Was going too far
Few of my writes
Had you on the invite
As you'd said that the meaning goes over your head
A role of the eyes is your silent reply
So til now I've kept most of them from you instead.
But the morn before this
As you planted that kiss
A poem emerged I was sure
would transcend
The picture it painted was
just as occurs
And I knew it would reach you, so I pressed send.
I looked at the floor
As you walked through the door
And smiled coyly but didn't coax any praise
Those curls soon turned South
at the ends of my mouth
Cos the subject, I'm sad to report, was not raised: -(