"Walking Tender Paths"

 

Falling in love with a poet is weird-some

He begins by writing you poems in the night

About the beauty in your eyes, the honey on your lips

And the passion with which he would kiss each one of them.

Sensual right? But a poet isn't a blind lover.

He sees-talk everything in between

All are part of falling in love, 

nothing is left out because of public cry.

 

He mourn your silence with a line

And writes a sonnet secretly to you,

Whenever you breaks a pound in his heart,

He uses every word to woo you back

And serenade you with the rhythm of each pause

And flows back into your conscious with every rhyme of his line.

 

These "dirty" children of his emotions

Locked in the closets of his imagination

Are unseen by private eyes

But resound in the memory of the beloved

And embraced in bed during nightfall

As a figment of all that could be but are not.

 

When a poet falls in love with you

He is timid with his words

When he stands before your gaze

But audacious in his writing 

When you stand as the muse of his piece.

 

Poets in love loves the journey

From when your quarrel lays them in bed in sorrow

Or when you cuddle beside them in cold nights,

To when they sulk seeing you with another.

They want to own you solo

Like you are the world they live in. 

 

Poets may never know how to love 

Like you want them to even if they try 

Their love isn't a sprint

But a sacred delicate journey of hearts

Every turn is laden with joy inexpressible

Or pain deeper than can be described.

 

 

(Dedicated to a poet-friend: Pretty Jewel)