wonderful bad poetry
your cliché and rhyme
stumbling as you write to me
(please, tell me I'm sublime)

but to be honest with you,
as you want me to be,
I was only half listening
so stupidly, I agreed.

you took my box of crayons
picked out colors I didn't know
drew a picture of the sky
the morning star aglow.

the red and gold of magic,
my heart, no, yours and mine.
I looked around and ran to you,
what was eclipsed, aligned.

i can sum it up best:
you scribbled on my chest,
and somehow it bled
to my heart…