you make fun
of my poem about sunlight
shining through your hair
the poem about how our hands
are created to fit perfectly
with the others

i understand
why you doesn't understand
but listen:

my love for you
can not be counted in touchings
or flowers or blushing
it will not be seen og heard
in the curve of my smile
or in the rhythm of my heart

mostly
you will only see it in my words
that become hundreds of poems
about how your eyes
become another colour
as your mood changes
and about how you laughter
fells like kisses across my cheekbone

about how
you are my sun and my moon
and all the starts and galaxies
caught in 179 centimers
if kindness

my love for you
can be seen
in the way my hands cramps
after i've written your name
all over the toilet door

it is seen
in the filled trashcan
with crumpled pieces of paper
because you don't deserve misspellings
or wrong  punctuation
you don't even deserve
poorly written poems

you deserve real words
and a mouth
whom dares to speak int he daylight
instead of writing
on the lowest point of your back

and that is why
i smile and laugh
and reach out
for the paper in your hands
whispering april fools
and go home to the burn
my collection of poems
about your hair
and the sun shining through