She doesn't like the flowers,
she finding my poems roses,
The words petals
Blooming into metaphors
she adores

I find my similes falling short
Of the fragrance she radiates,
Of the smile she carries.

Inspiration stems from her.
Her visage roots me frozen
Like statues.

She idealize everything I say.
Telling me my imagery falls short of the feeling she gets from the stanzas I pen.

I wrote it wrong!
I called the chaos of love in your heart as an eloquent emotion carried lightly
By your falling tears