I know you and I
are not about poetry.
Love songs and roses
are just ******* to you.
We fight like cat and dog
And burn like animals in heat
when we make up on the bed.
But I have to say something.
So you know what's inside me.
Waiting to be heard.
Needing to be said.
Just the way that you toss
Your hair before a
morning coffee.
Burns the **** out of me.