Honesty

why is it that

I write for you during 

the strange hours

of night,

when I'm drunk

on fatigue

and fingertips drag along

the keyboard

when cliches I hold back

run off the tip

of my tongue

and into

nonsense;

garish butterflies

drowned by

unnecessary words

when I become

so candidly honest

that it borderlines

absurdity

and I can't help

this overflow

of love?