I knew you would forget, just as soon as the sun would rise,
But your words, cliché and hollow, came as no surprise.
I asked but one small favor, at both break and close of day,
Just to hear you say hello, but now, hope's bled away.

When the woman you love is a poet,
It is hard to tell the difference,
between a poem and a conversation,
When the woman you love is a poet,
She will never speak her thoughts,
I have to decipher the lines,
When the woman you love is a poet,
It's hard not to be ensnared by the words,
And remember that the notes she sings,
Were not all for you

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.

planetary disillusionment
the notion that we are
stationary
it all revolves around us
as if we are any more than
a teardrop on a timeline
a bruise on a spine
the universe
sixteen years my lover
has ****** everyone I've ever known
yet still I let her touch me
convince me
that I matter
because if I don't
if I deny the touch I don't want
never wanted in the first place
then the black hole
in my chest will devour me
so I stay in my orbit
planetary disillusionment

I become
a sparrow
And hang upside down
On an imaginary branch
Pecking up on your words.

I become
A spider
weaving dreams
across the horizon,
Right then and there
you starts to tease me with
the words,
flies and butterflies.

When you talk,
The warmth of
Your words on me
make me fog
like a cold piece of glass,
now you can write on me!

just to get
so far,

and I just
want to be
right where
you are.