He owns my hand, it’s his to hold..

but not the poems that I wrote

He is the backgound of my site

but not the object of my delight

In his heart he carved my name

but he doesn’t know who I really am,

In the morning he’s there to greet

but he’s not the reason that I breathe

He’ll touch my lips, give me a kiss

but he isn’t the person that I miss

He may flaunt, may take me out

But if i love him…?

I’m in doubt.