I am a deformed poet
Love poems are where my ink faltered
Love stories have bad endings written

I am half-poet and half-crackpot
The bouquet of roses crushed
by jealousy and the expectation that eyes peep

I am just a poet
Last night I tried to pen
out of the blue, my fingers sadden

Only love in the grave
I taste more than
the purest vow in the altar