The looks, his smile, that hair,
His love, his charm, and the things he wears,
He went so perfect through all this time,
But even years later, I know he’s all mine.

His hugs, his kisses, and his laugh,
He’s effort to love me, on my behalf,
When I fall, and cry, he helps me through,
So I love him very much, and he loves me too.

His hand, his eyes, and the way he stares,
Makes me blush a lot but it shows he cares,
He turns; he waves, and walks several steps ahead,
But every detail on his back is one I’ve already read.

His, now, short croppy hair and his last expression,
Mixes together with one single confession:
How much he really cares; that all he can see,
Is a tiny, wonderful, yet selfless old me.