How does a poet admit to one who hates poetry, “I love you”?

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She breathes poetry, the words practically falling from her mouth to the page.

She uses words, bending them to her will, like an artist would bend clay.

She writes her poems for him, hoping he’ll understand.

He doesn’t admire poetry, and won’t pick up a poem unless it’s necessary.

He thinks words are too deceitful, and that people should just get to the point.

He reads her poems because she asks him to, not understanding the hidden messages.

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How does a poet admit to one who hates poetry, “I love you”?

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She speaks through her poetry; it’s the only way she knows how.

She lives through her poetry; it’s one of the few things that stay forever.

She breathes through her poetry; it’s what keeps her going, what lets her play out all her emotions.

He speaks because it’s communication, simple as that.

He lives because he has nothing to die for.

He breathes because it’s a reflex.

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But how does a poet admit to one who hates poetry, “I love you”?

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Her mind is filled with sunsets that are the ending of an old life and the beginning of a new.

Her mind is filled with pearls that glow and show a person’s true love.

Her mind is filled with him.

His mind is filled with sunsets that are the ending of a day and the beginning of a new.

His mind is filled with pearls that start as a tiny grain of sand and grow.

His mind is filled with her.

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A poem can often be just a simple statement.

A poem can be the single sentence you speak to disprove poetry.

A poem can change the way you look at life.

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He reads her poems to make her happy, because her smiles fill him with an unexplainable joy.

They speak, live, and breathe for each other.

Her mind is filled with the same things as him, but from a different perspective.

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Maybe a poet can admit her love by simply saying, “I love you”.