About the adversity and or the absence of a lover
Yet when it comes to writing poems on love
One could fail to express its absolute depth
One could write about their lover's eyes
Or maybe how they make one's heart sing or dance
Yet all those read like each other, and are often mediocre
To write about love is probably at best a folly
When I sat today to write a few lines, your thoughts dawned
I thought of the ocean and the sand, filling my pockets
As we sat on the beach, amongst the waves lashing at us
The romance was in getting the sand out of your dress
You see, poetry is so easy, and all poets just replicate
I am not a stranger to this, I am guilty as charged too
Yet when I remember you asking me to read one of my scribbles
I remember feeling shy like a little boy who got kissed on the head
Writing this one as a poetry critique, I could enrage a few
Maybe in that rampant rage we all could write something new
These rhymes, prose poems, and the utter barrage of verbiage
Cannot possibly describe how I seem to crave for your kiss
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