I could be cliche
And give you empty compliments
Strung together with the same words
That past lovers have used
But past lovers have come and gone
And I will make you mine
Without letting the words
Cute
Hot
Pretty
Beautiful
Drip off my tounge
Because I will not waste
Your time with these words
Whose letters contain nothing
My love for you is contained
In the twenty-seventh letter
of the alphabet
In a place
We know not of
(MTH 2/2/2014 8:43pm)

I'm not going to wait
For the girl of my dreams
Because she can't help me
Dreams are made for beds
And pillows and all those kinds of things
So I'll spend my time
Looking for the girl
Of my reality
Who can take me to a place
Where I don't need a bed
Or a pillows or those kinds of things
To be able to dream

If I wrote a book about you
It would have 311 pages
No more
No less

It would have 16 chapters
Each one telling a story
Of how something made me fall
Slow enough so you couldn't see

One whole chapter would talk about the time
We locked glances from across the room
And I decided that your eyes
Were my new favorite color

Page 214 would have a coffee stain
From where I almost got enough nerve
To ask you how you feel
When we are together

Little do you know
That every word I've written
Belongs somewhere
In that book
And I will make room
For them all