Don’t ask me why I treat you like a work of art.

Don’t ask me why I never write poetry,

You believe you are another ***** face and I tell you inspiration is a tricky thing.

Maybe I just haven’t had the time really...

But really it is more like my mind is a cluttered room...

I lie awake at night and try to find words that could not be said.

Dawn approaches just as it does every day, and I think:

"I like you this way and any other way just as I enjoy the sun in all its forms.

You would not ask whether I prefer the sunrise or sunset."