The way you look
The way you look at me
The way you see
It is all so enticing
I keep repeating
Like it is some kind of puzzle piece
And I'm trying to find where it fits
I don't know
I'm stupid, I should be able to say what I know and what I want
Yet I can only repeat and rhyme
Calling it poetry, yet it is a sad excuse on all levels
I know not all thoughts are beautiful
Rather many are mundane
Yet that is hard to believe
When many of my thoughts consist of you
And therefore are inherently some of the most beautiful things to think
So I write poetry
Calling it romance
Love, the muse
Love the muse
You see repetition is my default
Systematically placing stress on one word then the other
Changing and transforming the overarching meaning
Your lips
Your lips on mine
These thoughts lie in the back of my thoughts
And are all I can think about