The one after the pillow write

I wrote you a poem
I knew one was owing
It had to ring true and
spell out how you are
You don't have a poetic bone in your body
So demanding your interest
Was going too far

Few of my writes
Had you on the invite
As you'd said that the meaning
goes over your head
A role of the eyes is your usual reply
So 'til now I've kept most of them
from you instead.

But the morn before this
As you planted that kiss
A poem emerged
I was sure would transcend
The picture it painted was just as occurs
And I knew it would reach you.....
so,.... I pressed send.......


And that evening.......



I looked at the floor
As you walked through the door
And smiled coyly
but did not coax praise
Those curls soon turned South at the ends of my mouth
Cos the subject, I'm sad to report,
was not raised: -(