If I was a love poet,
I would paint pictures of your beauty across the pages,
a portrait of words as delicate as your skin.
My strokes light and feathery like your hair when it dances and waltz with the wind.
Your eyes would illuminate from the paper and ink revealing your soul.
I would get lost in the labyrinth of your love,
But I wouldn’t want to find my way back.
Because I feel at home when I’m welcomed into your outstretched arms,
When I smell the sweet scent of your compassion.
I’m not a love poet, I swear.
But sometimes I can’t help but to get trapped inside your stare and mentally write down and underline all that makes you beautiful.
Kind, Smart, Unique, Wonderful.
All the things that push aside your looks and appeal,
To reveal something that could be real.
You see, I’m not interested in the physicality and promiscuous actions,
But I’m hooked on your mentality and emotional attractions.
You see, if I was your lover,
I would paint masterpieces of my love into your mind.
And if you were blind,
I would write you love letters on my skin written in brail.
Because the goose bumps you give me would explain that my feelings for you will never fail.
I love you,
And I wish there was some way I could show.
But if you were mine,
I would make sure that you would know.