The gentleman writes to me
with eyes that see
my cracks and failure,
my lack of grandeur.
He scribbles love notes
and inspired quotes
in the curves of my skin
with fingers akin
to the lightness of smiles.
Oh he has many styles
he uses to keep
me from going too deep
into a long seeded fear
he will never see clear
the dimensions of words
that I see converge
in day to day life
bringing brilliance from strife.
And yet...
the match is all set
because he does write to me
in loving action, you see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem