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Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f
 Apr 2014 Samantha Lee
Gabriel
Broken.
Batter.
Heart abused.
But what is this lightness in my shoes.
The waters of change washing great burdens away in floods of emotional inoculation.
This raging stream within my heart, so rarely changing course, embarking found a new port.
I dare choose a certain path, for when I do, my heart will show and break the walls I have built just.
Perpendicular lines in a certain arbitration make for brutal collaborations in the releasing of frustrations,

Where my neck is pleasantly pained, my back shows marks of her strain, of passions so uninterrupted.
The deep diffusion so rapidly placed, like the strongest engine turning, on the verge of breaking.
I feel the tension of need, so accurately placed, like the invariable pressure felt by a diamond in rock.  
An embrace from the canines allows me to see, the limit of her threshold I am lust blind to see.  
Not anger, but an ****** loss of time, dipping inside your soul with fingers of my mind so delicately.  
Her pleasure is the focus of my passion.
Fully exhausted.
Loved.
Cherished.

It's a start...
 Apr 2014 Samantha Lee
Sky
you were made for me
but I was not made for you
****

— The End —