Here on Substantiopetrapopulus there is an expression of affection that takes the form of a collection of Others' introspection (thence funneled into the serendipitous perfection of a multi-track compression) in which the enamored one in question, after a session of deep and mesmerized reflection, has compiled a selection of apropos lyrics and a painstakingly just-so progression of musical ministrations.
AKA, The Mixed Tape. One lover to another, or a friend to a friend. A compilation of songs meant to convey a variegated yet cohesive audio-quilt of simpatico sentiment.
Typically, the mixed tape runs between 10 and 30 songs (depending on the degree of the giver's obnoxiousness and/ or the extent to which the giver suspects the receiver needs a thoroughgoing, propagandized force-feed).
The assemblage of a poetry manuscript to be submitted to a particular contest, I have found, is like the making of a mixed tape. Except on steroids and for the behoof of an indeterminate audience.