she thinks me to be a poet
but I am no poet
I am merely a little girl in love with the world.
Burying my face in perfumed pillow
and thinking of words that fit together
to form what she calls poems.
My lips form words to speak to her
tell her things of fancy and flight
she calls these songs.
Woman drowns me in amourous arms,
caresses me with lulling compliments
in the dulcet tones of her love filled, sultry voice.
I am not a goddess
no Aphrodite to you.
She is killing me with kindness
I am killing me listening.
Choaking on her syrupy kisses I think
"This is much too poetic a way to die."
Before I know whats come over me
I'm making love to an angel,
white feathers fill my eyes and nose.
Enough, I know.
This is enough.
Theres only so much love one can take.
Bidding her farewell is not easy
for she thinks me to be a poet
but I am no poet.
I say this...
She shakes her head of such thoughts.
And when I show her that I am merely a person
she pushes me away.
She thinks me to be a liar.
I'd rather be a poet.


 
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