By Daniel Ali
for Her.
I hate to be the poet that professes an
undying love for a beautiful soul.
By declaring her smile would undoubtedly
brighten the earth more than a summers
day in May.
Who discusses the extravagantly detailed
pools of mahogany which surround her
pupils.
Who encourages conversations of topics
she loves just to hear the sounds she makes
when joining letters to form words.
I hate to have someone read this poetry as a cliche,
In contrary belief to millennial ideologies of cringe,
If I,
a self acclaimed poet,
in attempts to profess an undying love,
Collected every single word from every
single language, and every
ancient runic
symbol or Egyptian hieroglyphic,
and comprehended them all!
in all of their complexities!
Words would still fail me, and my feeble attempt to truly voice
my undying love
for Her.