it's isn't about the looks,
but the characters built in books
for a tall handsome man in my head
looks better in my imagination instead
it ain't about the way he speaks
but the silence of anonymity makes me weak
for once when he'd start moving his lips
the illusion my mind conjured up would skip
it isn't about how he is in the videos he makes
its the stillness of the photograph that makes my heart shake
the mystery is attractive and reality is always a ******
the idea of my crush is pretty, looking good only in summer
but as the last piece of puzzle fits, its winter again
everything back to square one, back to being sane
for i crave a fallen angel with possessive arms and a heady glare
a ****** up moral compass and just one woman for whom he cares
a head full of thick dark hair and a skin not so fair
a manly stubble decorating his jaw and a mouth meant to be kissed
a presence so commanding that it is hard to be missed
an anti-hero through and through, darkness with a tinge of light
but i know fr, he will only ever exist if this is what i do, i write