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: -(