To love a man that gives you the moon and all of the constellations,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could create skies of jade and violet among any area of his choosing with his own bare hands.
To love a man that gives you a bouquet of twelve burgundy roses,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could produce a field of golden pansies atop my right cheek with his own fingertips.
To love a man that gives you a kiss beneath a lantern string of lights,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could shoot the most colorful of fireworks and streamers from the booming sound of his own voice.
To love a man that gives you a floral path from the door to a candle-lit room,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could toss a book through the air and before it struck my skin, it would burst into pink rose petals with a clap from
the same bare hands that painted me jade and violet skies.