Why Cant You Love a Poet
Why can't you love a poet?
Why can't you love a soul that wanders,
they're best when they're alone.
Does she scare you with her names,
and the way she calls you home?
Does she lose herself too much,
in the writing that she spills.
Does she tipsy you enough,
will all her squeaks and shrills.
Or maybe you can love a poet,
at the morning or in mourning.
You can love her till' the moon can't hold;
too more lovers sent with warning.
But when you finally leave her,
autumn will turn to winter, leaves will cripple in your absence, snow will melt in your palms.
You will leave her, but not will she be left.
You will stay in the mess of her thoughts, in her writing.
Tangled upon an knotted mess of i shouldn't have loved her.
But when spring does come,
no more minutes, no more hours.
Maybe we can murder ourselves into a twist of
a writing that's only ours.
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