My lover, far from perfect is he;
With craters on his face and yellow teeth.
I wanted a man, but that’s not what he be
As he cries just as much as he breathes.
I call him a star but he knows I’m lying,
Because what he portrays is mediocre at best.
There is nothing more shrill than the sound of his whining;
I believe I love him most when he is at rest.
He is sculpted by God but his heart needs work,
For he is far more sensitive than any infant.
He knows his naivety makes me irk,
But to all criticism, he remains indifferent.
People may be appalled by what we say about each other,
But we amuse ourselves because we know it to be true.
I think I probably love you more than your mother;
Because she will never know you half as much as I do.
And yet, by God, does he have the purest heart,
The softest embrace I have ever felt.
He might be a bit dumb and not very smart,
But he knows all the right ways to make me melt.
My dearest, I hope that you know despite everything I’ve said,
I won’t live without you; I would rather be caught dead.
Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130.