Love letter
Dearest CJ,
Sadly, of all the things I've been, a poet isn't one of them. Not to mention that you have one adoringly at your heels, who, on his worst day, could talk me into the ground.
I'm clever when I'm the least engaged. Standing off to the sidelines and being sarcastic is my strength. So I don't have the words to tell you how your eyes rob me of thought, or your smile of breath. You make me feel as though my skin is insubstantial, and you can reach in and lay fingers on my heart. Like you can see right through my skull and know when I'm bullshitting and avoiding.
Those don't sound like very comfortable talents. That's because they aren't. You're not a comfortable woman. You're flame and fire and everything I need and want to make me feel alive -- and glad to be so.
So pardon this poor mute fool who trails in your wake. And kick him often. He doesn't ever want you to think he does anything less than adore you.
Adam