Note below in italics not an actual part of the poem, just FYI.
Amor En Inglés
You are a broken little thing,
bastard child of ancient royalty,
though you share in none of their gentility.
You are neither clever
you are illogical, vexing, nonsensical.
You are not at all Romantic,
and though still young,
you are covered in scars.
And yet, I have loved you–
for longer than I can remember.
I fear how fragile you are,
certain each time I hold you
that my inept hands will destroy you.
You are damaged but
enthralling when I touch you;
you taste like hope in my mouth.
But you’ve had many other lovers in your young life,
lovers with fingers less clumsy
and tongues far more skillful than mine.
Still, you tolerate my oafishness,
and I cling to you,
desperately and unashamed.
You are flawed, incomprehensible, and utterly insane,
just like me–
so I cannot help but love you madly.
Some nights, you come to me,
frenzied and violent, demanding my touch,
artless though it may be.
And in those small and frantic midnight moments,
I allow myself to think that maybe, maybe…
you love me, too.
(Spoiler alert: Literal love letter to the English language)