On that dreaded day
You gave me chocolates
Handed me a box so plain
Thinking it wasn’t much
What you didn’t realize
Was that in
Eleven days time
It would change
A metamorphosis
Now the half eaten box
Sitting calmly on my desk
Is all of my hope
Slowly leaving
One piece at a time
Each morning
I take one piece
The wrappers now
Clutter my car
Perfectly preserved
In your old seat
Where you handed them to me
Where you told me you loved me
Where so many memories live
Now their only company
Is the shiny red wrappers
That once held my hope
The hope that was sweet
So sweet as it stuck in my throat
Just like all of those words I wrote
Addressed to you
Sitting next to that plain box
Now every sunrise
Tears bite at my eyes
While the words
Beautiful and perfect
Echo in your voice
As chocolate gets stuck in my throat

how does one love a poet?
between the lines of their spoken words
and their haiku's.
a jumbled nonsense to an untrained ear
but a masterpiece
to the ones who take your poems
the ones they've studied
and they dissected
because they find them*  almost
as beautiful
as the way your soul shines
when you coin a poem
about the one who
coins their poems
about you.

*the delicate intertwining process of loving a poet.