You asked me to write you a poem.

I’m sure that you hoped for a love poem

So sweet that it makes your teeth hurt.

I’m sorry but I can’t do that.

I can’t write you a love poem.

But if you let me

I will write you a new sky,

Describe to you in detail the way the clouds war

In the moments before they’re about to cry.

I can’t write you a love poem.

Instead, I can write you butterflies.

Butterflies that tickle your stomach

In those precious seconds before

Planes leave the ground,

Before lights flicker in the dark,

Before a snake strikes,

Before you talk to the girl you love for the first time

Or the second time

Or the hundredth time.

I can’t write you a love poem.

But maybe, in its place,

I could write you a spring breeze.

The very same breeze that gently brushed

Her hair in her face.

A breeze that orders flowers

To dance a slow waltz

Your hand against the small of her back

Holding her close enough to smell her

But gently as not to break her.

Flowers are best left unpicked.

I can’t write you a love poem.

But, to make up for it

I will write you constellations

Describe how loudly they sparkle

And how it sounds like laughter

From nights spent in trees and

Next to fireplaces.

Constellations you have memorized in the

Freckles on her face

Mapped out by the gentle touch

Of fingers to skin.

I can’t write you a love poem,

But I will write you a creaky swing set,

A slow moving stream,

A cloudy sky,

A warm afternoon.

I will write you the color of her eyes,

The smell of girly shampoo,

The sound of burning wood

And the heat from it on your skin.

You asked me to write you a poem

And I can’t write you a love poem.

Instead I can write you my love.