The Poet

Ethereal he was a mist when he wrote

I know I was invisible to him.

Not just me but to the whole world.

He sought his beauty inside his heart.

All of his henchmen surrounded him

Cloudy coffee and cigarettes that grew

into long ash lines as he sat with them.

Occasionally a flourish as his pen

spilled a line of exquisite beauty

that would glow in the night.

Art in words that were more vivid

than any painting ever made.

I noticed his tousled hair

It needed grooming but was still

beautiful.

 A lock fell on his forehead like a schoolboy.

I had an overwhelming desire

to fold it back from his face

like a mother to her son.

More as a need to show him he

still belonged to me.

An outward expression  

of my undying love.

He would never change

I know this

But neither will my love for him

for it is in love with his heart

and hearts love forever