by Chris Butler
I write her love letters
without a signature,
while falling for her
on tendon bended knee
after tripping over
my stuttering words,
as I present flowers
to grim reapers,
sing love songs
with my one man band,
and offer rings
to quadriplegic mistresses,
by proposing engagements
for dates set by fate.
I’m a hopeless romantic
claiming to be a poet.
this one really kicks it, man!
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