Cheesy is My Middle Name

It's funny how oft I'll rewrite a line,
to make it clever, or witty, or rhyme.
But not so half-hearted are the words that I think,
Words meant for you, not my pen nor my ink.

For in my head, my love, I have a letter;
I fantasize that it will make everything better.
Yet to keep myself from seeming absurd,
Never, darling, will I send you a word.

One day we may smile and talk about the weather..
One day, and that's fine, so long as we're together.
For an hour at most we'll feel again,
Each other, as lover, stranger, or friend.