You bore your wooden hatchet
Into the stump of my heart,

But now it's overgrown and
beginning to fall apart.

Your time has come to its realistic end,

As I watch the last of my wounds completely mend.

Just know...
He’s had lives & loves before you
Remember that when the bricklayer or the mechanic
Asks for your hand
You’ll receive one flower
Instead of a dozen roses
Picked on his way home
Handwritten notes in your shoes
Instead of Hallmark greetings
Elaborate dinners cooked by him
Where he said he’d clean
Afterwards
But didn’t
Spur of the moment
Road trips
Instead of planned vacations
The opening of windows
For the springtime thunderstorms
Listening to the beat of his heart
While the rain drops
Drip
Drip
I
N
T
O
The drain
He’ll write you with jazz playing
Wine in his bottle
Records in his head
Absorbing you into his world
And if he dies before you
And you bury him
And you mourn over him
Lasting for years
Remember his flower
His notes written just for you
And if you see his ghost
Haunting you
Then the Poet
Has fallen forever for
...You...

I'm on a stairway to heaven
I wished for it at eleven eleven
Though it was a wish you'd figure
That it wouldn't be me to
Pull the trigger

You weren't meant to be a lover, but a lesson.

Nearly everything is a distraction, to prevent honest self-discovery.

We tried to sail with a ship already on fire.