If I were to fall in love with a poet,

how beautiful would that be?
I want to fall in love with a poet.
That is, if that poet falls in love with me.

One who’s heart stands on top of a mountain or stage
and proclaims true hearts loving names.
He who’s aim is great enough to create harmonies out of flames
and melodies of the sun’s wisping rays.

Dear sweet poet, you are devoted to it.
To the world, my poet, you owe it.
For your words can mend broken hearts
or forge the swords between peasants and lords.

Thine eyes glisten of desire and romanticism
Not with sexism, oh no, but with loves arrow and bow
You set your eyes, align the sights,
and like a viperous strike
the crisp apple is to delicious not to bite.
To love, to cash, you may think
but no, my poet applies this to everything.

I love you poet, do you even know?
I love you poet, through the rain, sunshine, and snow.
I long for you as I lay on the floor of my room
writing these silly words about you.

Oh my poet, I’ve waited to kiss thee.
The lips of a poet must be so fucking intoxicating.
Your hands, put them around my waist, please.
And let your deep soulful eyes penetrate me.
I feel your fingertips slip and tickle down my thighs
only your loving warmth will vanquish loves lies.

May I be your muse, be the sweetest news, oh my poet lover?
Let me be your mystery between tranquility and exhilaration
Then read me your words of intellectual dreams and liberation,
They will surely serve a purpose ever so inviting.
Dear sweet poet, write a few lines about me.
A stanza, a simile, or anything ’tis lovely.
And I’ll melt into your arms, endlessly.

If I fell in love with a poet,
how beautiful would that be?
I want to fall in love with a poet.
That is, if that poet falls in love with me.

© 2014 HLR

 

“LOSS”

Oh what a thing is loss.

The way it tears me down.

Makes me hard.

Makes me frown.

It has the color of death

And I’ve obsessed over it up to now.

How do I make up for all of my loss?

So I can make people smile.

How can I defeat it?

How do I live when death has slowly nipped

at my heels and pulled at my sleeves?

In such covert ways,

loss is much like fleas.

Behind everything I love,

loss is there to cut it down at the knees.

Oh what a thing is life

The way it lifts me up.

Makes me high.

Makes me light.

It has the scent of ocean sky

And I’ve obsessed over it up to now.

Oh to spread my joy,

Share my life and people smile.

How can I create it?

Life that is taught to socially be linear

Yet linear it is not,

full circles it so seems.

Behind everything I love,

Life is always there

to cut loss down at its knees.

© 2014 HLR