Secrets I Wished You'd Know by Now

Her

She wanted to ink poems,
poems that rolled of your tongue like the words put together
were meant to be,
Poems so beautiful,
They were no longer words put together,
but art.
Art to be tasted and savoured.
Poems that would make her question whether they really took form within her,
But to him,who loved her,
none of that mattered,
because to him,
She was poetry.
She was art.