I have written poems for you that others will never see
and you have heard poems I would never otherwise read.
You have sat up
late night
half-asleep
daring the early morning,
to talk me through a final sentence.
My poetry fluctuates.
Today it may be meh,
tomorrow good
another day atrocious
and you have never said
“I like it”
when the words were not true.
You have always told me how you felt.
So I’m inclined to believe it,
when you say
“I love you too.”
