I crushed it, and it regrew anyways.
The hypothesis, was more romantic,
than tossing and yearning all night
over losing teeth in a giraffe fight.

Your hypothesis, was more romantically
worded, than a thesis on how birds die on impact
when colliding with a glass windowpane,
retrieving teeth lost during a giraffe brawl.

Worded, like the thesis about how birds die during impact,
each line of the letter dripped with invisible ink,
like colliding with a glass window. Pain
is only fleeting, if the end comes close behind.

Every line in each letter, drawn with invisible ink,
doesn't sound in the pronunciation, which
is only fleeting, if the end line draws closed behind.
So close your characters behind you, and don't let the draft in.

Does it not sound in the pronoun, the annulment of which
leaves every thing indefinite, and incomplete.
So clothe your characters before you, so they don't let in a draft,
and catch a cold from ****** or being indistinct.

What leaves everything indefinitely incomplete
other than the ability of the mind to hypothesize,
and catch a cold in the **** state of being extinct?
The inability to reconcile your metaphorical heart and instinct.

The others, they, have the ability to hypothesize,
about what makes us toss and yearn at night.
I forgave your inability to reconcile. My heart: pure instinct.
So you crushed it, and still it grew anyways.