What poetry can I expect from you
But your eyes?
 
Words, why words?
Why do poets need love in verse?
 
And you, a mortal, no muse but I
And I demand of you more than your eyes
 
And I get tangled in verbs and nouns
In a chain of thoughts, in rhythm and sound
 
And every heart beat is expelled with my pen
Every feeling is a metaphor sent
 
And you, my love, can do nothing but love me,
And I, a fool, expect you to write poetry

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