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.

This morning of mornings when dawn
on waking tints her blue face
with wispy-white make-up,
when no breeze stirs the quiet or ruffles
day's essence I breath in a
freshness and thrill at being alive.

This summer of summers when growth
all around thrusts to race
upwards at re-born pace
as ardour covers the ground, when force
invades plant-space I taste
the fight and feel their excitement.

This delight of delights when July affords
warmth to outdoor creations
with florally fragile fragrance,
when petal exposure's juicy insides show
a future of fat seed sameness
I become awed by beauty's survival.