If perchance
we stumble in
to this mortal dance
and swing
and dip
across the tip
of life’s ledge,

If we dare
to venture on
beyond
simple reflexes
past poor pretenses
will we meet
and dance
in poetry?

Sweetly
and discreetly
we will bend in
words that mimic
ballet movements;
Feathers flapping freely.
I see you before me
and I adore thee
as a true friend
as a poetic compatriot
because you are great at this
sharing the depths of
our heart that write and love
all the world
below, around, and above.

I just heard a poem today

About a man who was heart broken
And how he only thought about
The next guy kissing his ex;
Or how he wouldn’t lock the door
In case she came back.

And the people cheered..
He was amazing actually
So much emotion in his voice

And the people cheered..
There’s a fellow who entertains!
I could never do that;
So I envy him.

But;
I hope that person never has to suffer
Through sleepless nights
Hoping she finally calls,
Or seeing that new Facebook picture
Of her with another man,
Cuddled in the same bed I was in a
JUST a week prior
Kissing those lips, that tasted so sweet
When we last said goodbye,
Less than seven **** days ago!

I hope that person never has to heal
And spend his next 3 years, rejected
Rejected and rejected
By every single girl he finally falls for.

I hope that person doesn’t spend his days
Hoping that even once a week he can play
His favorite 2-player video game
With a woman who only wants to
Order some pizza afterwards; while
Cuddling up to a horror movie and a kiss,
Goodnight.

It’s easy to find a drinking partner
Or somebody who will take their clothes off
at midnight and be dressed fast enough
To catch the last train.

But wanting to hear about the person’s day
Or what their favorite novel is;
Their desires,
Their fears
Or why she has those scars
On that beautiful body.

Or why she doesn’t think she’s pretty
When to you she’s the prettiest girl
That you’ve ever cuddled up in bed with
While you watched her play Zelda.

Finding that is tough.

I hope that person is never me
Ruining every conversation going his way.
Trying so hard to keep her smiling,
While forgetting that he’s an *******
Who doesn’t know when to stop talking.

That he doesn’t make enough money
To take her out for a romantic dinner
Or that he can’t drive when she’s stuck
In the middle of nowhere; in minus 20 weather

I hope that person realizes
Writing at 4:30 AM, on a work night
Because another man’s poetry
Made someone else think of a girl
That he doesn’t deserve
And can’t have
Is exactly how some writers live.

And we just wish we were entertaining.

What secrets do your eyes hold?
what desires could I fulfill?
What pains could I mend?
What wonders could I cultivate?
Your eyes are the window to your soul
One day I hope
You will open the blinds
And let me see