I long for you to notice,
I long for you to know.
Perfection for me is nothing more
than your kiss and a red rose.

Love, to me, is
a cup of burnt, black coffee
brought to me by your
tired, aching feet.

Romance is running five minutes late,
yet turning around and sprinting up the stairs
to give a kiss on the cheek.

I long for you to realize,
I long for you to see.
You radiate
pure perfection,
pure love,
pure romance,
to me.