Chocolate flowed right from his lips.
Dripping down the dampened ships.
My tongue awakened.
My bones they ached and,
the melted chocolate, still it drips.

His eyes were soft,
his voice, tender.
The way he tipped his head at me,
how I melted at the site.

His chocolate locks fell freely,
dangling loosely across his eyes.
We paused for a moment, frozen.
I smiled. He breathed.

This has happened more than once,
making my point more damning.
That his chocolate eyes and locks,
locked once with mine.

Never fall in love with a poet
for their words are sometimes lies
on occasions they're a shield
on occasions a disguise

They will take you on a journey
upon which they bare their soul
in a bid to ease your burdens
in a bid to make you whole

But in every word they choose
for the stories that they tell
lies a little piece of heaven
and a little piece of hell

Tormented souls we poets are
sometimes quite broken and despaired
in search of lost expressions
missed by others who once cared

Never fall in love with a poet
unless you're prepared to share their pain
to hold them close on the darkest nights
over and again