Could I write a love poem?
No, because I am not in love.
Why am I not in love?
Because I wrote a poem,
And all the love I hid deep down
Spilled out through its rhymes.
Through the verses, it ran straight
Along allegories’ waves
Past the metaphors and mountains
By the similies and snow.
I could write a love poem.
Yet its meaning would be false,
Since the love that fiercely ran,
In the end, it all collapsed,
And now dwells right in your arms.