Yet Another One

Can I describe him to you?
Can I even begin to relate
The wonders of his every move
His every word, his every kiss,
Brown hair falling in curls
Around his cream-colored forehead,
Blue-green eyes always watching
Glistening in the moonlight
Sparkling in the rising sun,
Strong hands that I've written about
In countless poems and stories,
Yet another poem to add to my
Collection of descriptions of him.
He reads them, too, every one of them,
They're redundant, but he does,
Not because he likes reading about himself,
Because he knows I love him,
He knows as long as I do love him,
There will always be another poem,
And another, and yet another one.