Thank you for not writing
about the colour of my eyes,
or the warmth of my skin,
or the softness of my breath
in your ear.

Thank you for not writing
about the curve of my hips,
or the feel of my lips,
or the darkness of my hair
like damp earth.

Thank you for not writing
about the texture of my voice,
or the contours of my hand,
or the mystery of my smile
and my laugh.

Thank you for writing
about the way you fell in love
with my words.
The same happened to me.

(Oh, but I’m a hypocrite
of course).