Your hand says it, resting between my scapulae,
So too do your eyes when they fall on me,
when they linger on my contours and lines,
I don’t feel like they’re telling lies.

Your lips say it, as they turn to the sky,
When I joke, smile, or simply walk by.
I hear it in your voice when we talk on the phone,
Even more so when we’re face to face, talking alone.

I hear it in your words, when you speak about life,
When you offer, or ask me for friendly advice,
When you praise me for the things that I do,
When you accept as I do the same for you.

Impressing you is no mean feat,
Whether by what’s inside or merely skin-deep.
I don’t take admiration with a confident face,
From you though, I’ve learnt to accept it with grace.

But. This you should know, a fact, irrefutable…
I die, every time you call me ‘Beautiful’.

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