Does he really love me?
His features as whimsical as a god,
His flaws untouched and never seen before.
When he walked by, every lady had awed,
He is so perfect, what's not to adore?
He's always as addictive as a drug,
I always want to be in his warm grasp.
If I'm sad, he comforts me in a hug.
I wish he would look at me and then gasp.
The love he might give is beyond compare.
The love he gives is what I cannot own.
He loves me not; it fills me with despair.
Love is strange, it seems to always post pone.
I love you; something he's yet to mention,
Does he really love me? That's the question.
