Is writing countless rhymes above lines much more still than their writers hands have ever been,
nearly enough to show my affections?
I try putting action to words, so my poems become more than dried ink,
more than something you've only heard
but how can I show you what you cannot see in the mirror?
In what way can i prove to you  your perfection is intoxicating.
Countless smiles you've created throughout all the time we have dated
My cares for anything but you, have faded.