He isn't a poet
He won't understand
When I tell him
That words go hand in hand.

He claims he doesn't know
What these verses hold
Alas, he can't see
The truth that's untold.

But this is OK
Perhaps even better
He can still see the emotion
Behind every letter

So the words I use
With him are plain
Yet somehow he knows
When they're steeped in pain.

He isn't a poet
Or so he swears
But he can tell
(because he cares)

He knows exactly
What I'm trying to say
(Or at least most
of the time anyway)

I think he can tell
(Though I don't know)
Through the screen
I love him so

His mind may not
Process things in rhyme
But that isn't a bad thing,
Isn't a crime.

I guess that now
What I'm trying to say
Is that I love him
Anyway.

(to K.G.)