The Glitter Phoenix Burns

I won't compose prose every morning you open your eyes next to me (I won't compare you to a summer's day).

I won't remember every appointment.

I won't keep the sheen on my armour.

I won't know what to say sometimes.

I won't get your order right.

I'll be late.

I'll fuck-up.

But I'll write something for you when you least expect it (in summer or winter).

But I'll burst through the door as soon as I remember.

But I'll polish it until it shines again.

But I'll say something anyway.

But I'll go back and make it right.

But I'll get there.

But I'll try.