And everytime he sees me,
He asks "have you written anymore poetry?"
I smile and reply with a no,
But there is little that he knows.

Every kiss that mets his lips,
Is a love song unwritten on page.
The way we sway at the hips,
A pen dancing softly across paper.

His soul calms me like poetry,
I write poetry when Im with him.
It may not be written or spoken,
But poetry none-the-less.