When I met you the poetry
That once domino-ed from my fingertips
Flew like flocks of sparrows
From the aching bones of willow trees
I try to write you an epic
And instead stand up to pour another cup of coffee
I wish that I could craft something
That would echo off the sunspots on your shoulder
Syllables that seemed sweet in dreaming
Can't catch the butterflies in my stomach each time I walk through the door
I don't know how to write the tiptoed bubble of our laughter
When we're dancing across the kitchen floor in sock feet
Words never felt so hollow
As when asked to presuppose
The entirety of
My favorite verse