like starting a sentence with a preposition,
he is a raging poem. just walking around.
the rhymes, sometimes perfect, down to a T.
and sometimes, laid out like bodies in a car crash.
he is that perfectly innocent question,
that starts with who, what or how.
and suddenly becomes why and why not?
that balanced sentence with verbs and praises,
that sometimes fades off into dots of silence.
it's impossible not to take a pause,
a sharp breath in, when he looks at you.
like adding that decisive full stop,
just so you can begin all over again.
and with every breath comes words
that lift you up. or put you down if you choose.
even his sneeze is like a subtle hint of sarcasm.
his smile commands countless lines of poetry.
if he looks away, it's like turning a page.
a deliberate breaking of your focus, like your heart skipping a beat.
when he holds your hand,
it is like a song.
and when his eyes flash in anger,
it is a rock ballad, crashing into you, hooked forever.
his dreams are like a chorus.
the same words repeating truthfully after every four beats.
the most memorable part of a verse, they say.
words are all i have, he offers.
if only he knew.
he is a rollercoaster of a poem,
just walking around.