Sycophantic:

Ugh, the way your hair cascades down your face like a gental stream flowing into rapids over the fall as it passes your shoulders. I listen as the poetry spills from your heart delivered by seductive lips with a captivating potence. Every vocal inflection; mellifluous. Reverberating in my ears with the most dulcet euphony. I wish I could dry your tears on my shoulder. I can see you've been crying, yet the melodic, emotional equations still pouring from your soul. You are the paragon of poets. earnestly, I wish your verbal ammunition was discharged in my direction. You said you wish a poem was meant for you, I know it's a cliché notion, but the way you write, when you speak, you are the poem, you're poetry in motion.