For him, I wouldn’t write
About his handsome face
Or the fluent way he walks
With that swift unfailing grace
‘Cause those little simple things
He shows to everyone
I’d love to write about all that
Which he has shown to none
Like the way he tilts his head
And frowns into the distant sky
When he either smelled or thought about
Something particularly vile
Or how he sometimes murmurs
When he’s dreaming and asleep
And brings me closer to his chest
When vivid nightmares make me weep
Then there’s also the way he smiles
In that amused way when I get mad
Or how he scowls when he sees
Anyone wearing yellow plaid
And when we’re all alone
He’d sing some ****** songs
In the shower, in the kitchen
Once, wearing crimson thongs
So no, I wouldn’t write
About all those others could see
I would rather write about the things
He shows to only me.