Dear you,
If they ask me about you;
You’re exactly the poem I wanted to write
Though I know a poem
shouldn’t have been described but loved
You’re exactly the word
I’ve been looking for
Though they say I might end up
in a broken pieces of ancient dictionary
You’re exactly the rhyme
I’ve been begging for
With a slight hope of happiness
in the most terrifying sad song
You’re exactly my kind of sonnet
With Shakespeare taste
To witness the darkest sorrow
of falling in love or being loved
If they ask me about you;
You should know that
You’re exactly in the very first
or the very last stanza of my own
since I love you for the very first time
and you surely end up as my last one
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