i could write you a note
filled with beautiful things
pour my heart into it
and intricately orchestrate
every singing line — but
it would still be just
another generic love letter
and whatever beauty it held
would be that of mass appeal
not of you and your own
charming host of idiosyncrasies
i have been acquainted with people
who turned out not to be you — but who on their own merits
(or demerits) set my fancy dancing across the page
or handed me a line of thought
but that was them, and that was then
and i will not write you
your own generic love poem
