Prospective Love Letter

I have dreamt about your structure and charted the angles of your face.

I can describe your eyes, so bright, it's hard to leave to fate.

I imagine when you laugh, it creates a dimple in your chin.

Your smile, is so warm and open, or is it an impish cheeky grin?

But, alas we haven't met, and I don't know when we will.

So I write you this prospectively, because I've got some time to kill.

I don't know the structure of your darling face.

Nor do I know the colour of your eyes.

Your secret features a mystery.

Things I might not recognise.

Still, I will write my love letter.

And write it to your hands.

For I will always know them.

I hope you understand.

Your hands are strong yet gentle, our fingers intertwined.

Large palms to easily cup my face, to kiss if so inclined.

Fingers to caress my skin and never cause me harm.

And I will watch in wonder while they create the objects of your charm.

I will wait forever, or until the stars align

to say "They're quite large, aren't they?"

When in comparison to mine.

And when the day isn't so bright, and you’re down and feeling blue,

I will kiss each digit, 3 x 5 x 2.

Poems are Hard.

Poems are hard.

They shouldn't be, they should flow from one's soul and onto the page like some sort of flowing thing, like a river. No that's too rapid. Waterfall? No. Beautiful I grant you but it's a bit too ... what's the word? High? No. Scary! Thats it. Imagine falling off one ... in a barrel. You can use it as a metaphor for falling in love. People do that sometimes, you know. What? Recreationally travel down waterfalls in barrels? Yes... but I meant they fell in love. I bet it hurts when you hit the bottom.