Favourite poet
3 months in,
He asks your favourite poet,
If you have one at all.
You tell him who it is.
He’ll forget, he’s sure.
So he’ll ask again.
By the fifth, he will know
That you have one at all,
But the name will elude him.
He says he’ll tattoo it to his wrist
So that when people ask the meaning
Just as people always do,
He will smile
Because it’s about you.
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