Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again

not a star
in the sky
nor one dappled
dew drop
through which glory
of sun
nor God
shone ~

not a canary
in full song
nor polished gem
nor finely
crafted gold
piece
nor Da Vinci muse

nor any man-made
wonder of
this world
or God-made
of the next

could take my eye
the way
your countenance
has claimed
my sight ~

and none
would
make me
celebrate
my blindness
the way
you do.

he goes searching for love in the wrong ways
guided in directions by bedsheets and lost
by indulgence in the temporary
decadence and narcissism
-
a mapless journey lead in the retrospected
direction of peer fulfilled gratification,
met already past the point of no return
by a social gathering of perceptions
and conceptions towards a tangible
reason
-
the smell of sweat,
consecutive exhales and inhales
pinpoint reminders after the fact,
held tight by only bedsheets,
watching her get dressed
pulling what she wore out
that night over a coiffure
of tangled penitence
as it rises above the
neck of her shirt
-
sitting admit the marrow
of vision lies an exiting
woman, usually
brown hair, sometimes blonde,
behind the marrow lies thoughts
of penance that digs and widens
the crevice of perception
deeper and deeper
-
at times of stagnant intimacy,
intimacy that redefines ephemeral,
retrospected notions replay
and stain the mind of
women,
usually brown hair,
sometimes blonde
-
by this time
he rode the the wrinkles
on the bedsheets too far
destined to temporarily
subside the loneliness,
only to find out in the present
that the destination reached
has a population so nullified
that where he came from
was far better off.