A love poem.

You are the Tiramisu in a world full of Pound-cakes.
They can’t even touch you.
They don’t have the frosting or cream filling like you do.
They are all just Pound-cakes with out the icing.
You are the layers of whipped chocolate and cream filling.
Glitter does no justice to your shine.
You are every bit your word.
I admire you above all.
But sometimes I am left, wading in puddles of tears.
My imperfections run deep.