His heart does not belong to you. He is a poet.
Don't you know they only love words?
Love, yes love, he lives and breathes and writes love letters
About your brown hair around your neck, and the gold he found in your eyes.
Maybe the way you smile more with one side
Or other things, perhaps, about you he believes he loves.
But it's not you he loves, and you must realize this now.
He only loves words. He is a poet. He only loves words.
He's not looking for any heaven he can spend with you
Because he's already found it in that cup of tea he sipped
At the coffee shop around the block
Where he sat, and listened, and watched, and thought
Of the words he loves more than you.