You asked me once to write you a poem.
I said I would, but I never did.
You never did become the subject of my writing.
I could’ve never written about you, until now.
Because you couldn’t have been part of my poems.
You WERE one of my poems.
The beauty in which I have the hardest time expressing.
You were the fire that ignites in my body whenever you looked at me.
You were the light that shines the brightest when you flash your smile at me.