A poet’s heart does not just delicately nibble upon the petals, a poets heart dives head first into the stigma, marinating within the sticky but soothing pollen.
A poet’s heart becomes the beat of the waltz performed by the lovers at twilight.
Most hearts stumble into each other’s outstretched arms, “falling in love.”
The falling is oh so delicate, no scrapes or bruises, just neatly being let down onto a bed of cloud, white and wispy neck kisses, compliments, and dates at the local coffee shop floating in the surrounding air.
A poet’s heart does not fall nearly as delicately as theirs,
A poet’s heart dives deep into the darkest of waters,
Roughly,
Harshly,
With meaning.
A poet’s heart is submerged under the water for weeks at a time,
And when let out for air, it is wrenched dry, twisted and strangled until there is no more water to drip.
A poet’s heart is shown the true depths,
A poet’s heart explores the true depths.
A poet’s heart loves so ******* intensely that when all the metaphors are used up, it expires.
A poet’s heart grieves even more intensely than it loves.
For a poet’s heart known more synonyms for pain than that of most.
A poet’s heart became dented and stained with all the passion that had been spared.
A poet’s heart gets stuck in the pollen deep down within the cavernous stigma; it looks up and sees the other hearts dancing upon brightly coloured petals,
The poet places pen to paper, but no metaphor is strong enough to explain the shards of their heart scattered at their feet, bleeding thick honey across the floor.