A Humble, Fumbled Inquiry of No Injury
You call me handsome,
but I find you prettier.
Without you, I'm lonesome,
but it still never gets easier
to say "I love you,"
even when it's due.
When I think of being your guy,
I always--well, usually--tend to shy:
not because I am inclined to stray,
nor because I conceive that you may;
rather, quite the opposite.
Although I am often timid,
my joys with you are but vivid,
and few rival that of your face lit--
hence why I tense.
It is true that good relationships, when
their members are utmost smitten,
also house quite a bit of toil,
for everyone has their share of wounds,
and with pr