“When a poet will romance a subject,
One will never die for their words will perpetuate,
The way he or she carries themselves about,
Of one's eyes of their hair their skin all components,  

When someone is irate at the subject,
And that leer of resentment when troubled,
As subject sways with authority from a kiss,
Without their body touching someone else's,

How the habits never wrinkle pages of a book,
Poets in love will find all the words of significance,
The Poet may see subject as they were on an islet,
On a waterfront near a small town of recollection,

Their words of passion penned on longing paper,
They will know when and why you can't sleep,
Poets die but their words do not they live eternally,
Explicitly graceful from the ink drafted on paper”
     For a POET MUSE KNOWS”
By Andrew Guzaldo 08/05/2018 ©