I do not want you to be 

just another poem.

You are not broken

into stanzas I write.

You are not a metaphor

because nothing compares to you.

You are just a man.

A man who cares for me deeply.

You are just a human.

A human with a heart of an angel.

You are just a soul, 

encaged in this mystical physical form

                                                                      that I dream

                                                                                     of

                                                                                        laying next to

                                                                                             at night.

                                                                           I am sorry I made you into a poem.