I'm the poet.
You're the puppet. I
    control
                       where
                                                       your
                                                      eyes
l­ead,
when and where you

                                  read my words
with my spaces and p
                                      auses,
drive you crazy with nonsense clauses
that don't always rhyme.
But they do some of the time.
Or I use alliteration around absently,
leaving you wondering what my next word will be.
And by making it to the end of this poem,
you have proven how poets manipulate your thinking through the use of poetry puppetry.

If you really want to meet
the one of whom I write
my muse and my inspiration
the one that sets my heart alight

If you really want to see
the most astounding vision
who breaks mens hearts
with random precision

if you're really that curious
I'll show you, step nearer
and when you get close enough
I'll hand you the mirror

there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
                    unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
        lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
            gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
          of my
dream

Fluid and soft
she will slip through your hands
like water

meant not to fill you,
but to help you grow.

She is not your rock
in a hard place

She is a tidal wave
that breaks at the receding.

She is not the light
That calls you close

But the warmth
That keeps
You at ends
With life

I've always wanted someone to take my breath away
Bu after struggling to obtain oxygen these past few days
I have realized how precious it is
Saving it and storing it up for the right words
But my oxygen could never be wasted on you
My ribs may creak and crumble
And my lungs stretch paper thin
But oxygen is a precious thing
And you are worth every single breath
That burns me from the inside out