I wanted him to write ma love poem...
but he said ht didn't write poems like those. 
So I opted to listen to love hidden inside verses of social despair...
verses filled with the introverted grief 
that came when humanity's love didn't.
I wanted him to write me a love poem...
for after hearing poems filled with rage 
that was the bastard child of oppression and injustice, 
I knew he was capable of expressing his secret desire in the literarary form. 
Capable because in the late night hours he whispered them to me 
as our ears rested on cellular pillows and our souls built 
on the foundation that God laid in our hearts.
I wanted him to write me a love poem...
a poem filled with the beauty he possessed 
which manifested itself in the delicate way 
his overtly ghetto manhood handled me...
In the way his hardcore voice became soft 
when he used terms of endearments...
in the way his eyes spoke without the utterance of words.
I wanted his love poem to be the evidence to unbelievers...
that love was possible even when it appeared impossible. 
I wanted him to write me a love poem 
because I saw God's love in him and I knew his Song, 
like Solomon's would be divine.
I wanted him to write me a love poem 
but he said he didn't write poems like those...
so I settled to do without the love poem, 
because I had something better...
I had the love...and that, was poem enough...for me.