top of page
T3 White.png


Again she asks,
'where's her poetry?'

I respond
‘it's between every line that I write-’
as it's the confidence she gives me
in every creative fire I light

A specific work couldn't cover
the feelings for my love,
it wouldn't furnish
the page proper,
as simply words aren't enough

What makes her believe
I can translate
passion through stanzas;
my admiration is stronger
than a charging army's advances

Verbose scrolls full of drama
can't accomplish
what five words can do,
when they’re stated
simply as 'my darling, I love you'

bottom of page