He’s pretty, he  gleams like the fresh morning dew;
Often I picture myself waking up next to you.
But vines they invade those beautiful dreams;
Piercing my thoughts with thorns oh so sharp.
Because under that rose tinted facade,
Rests the roots of this bush, warped, gnarled, and odd.
So I guess what I mean to say;
But not in a mean way;
This rosebush needs pruning, my babe.

I like you,
Honest!

I like how you look,
how you smell,
how you taste.

I love the exquisite way you carry yourself
And the compassion you’ve always shown others
In spite of their shortcomings.

How you look so beautiful in that dress
at the dance
I definitely stared once or twice  

So yes, I like you,
I just wish you would like you too.