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.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
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.
