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Literature Text
I would write you poems,
But they fall flat,
Insufficient.
No domes of rythym,
Punctuated,
As they are,
By star-like words
Could ever be enough.
Not with the way you match my very soul,
And smooth jigsaw edges into smiles.
There are no words
For the beauty that is the meeting of our souls.
But they fall flat,
Insufficient.
No domes of rythym,
Punctuated,
As they are,
By star-like words
Could ever be enough.
Not with the way you match my very soul,
And smooth jigsaw edges into smiles.
There are no words
For the beauty that is the meeting of our souls.
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