My poems of love are empty I feel
Because I haven't met someone to fill them
So to whomever may be in my future
Though they aren't about you now, they will be
I desperately desire a day when my poetry feels real
And no longer appear as letters dressed up to look pretty
One day I hope they are filled with something warm
As if my love for you will flow through them like veins
And jump-start the heart of all my passion stored and saved for you