Don’t Fall in Love with Poets
Don’t fall in love with poets,
for they love like fire
they burn, fade,
and then change Aladdin’s lamp for another wish.
Today they’ll sing to your lips like a fountain of wine,
tomorrow they’ll name the moon
after the forehead of another brunette.
They turn dark-haired women into summer nights,
give blondes the scent of wheat,
and curl-haired girls become metaphors tangled in rainbows.
Don’t fall in love with poets
they don’t know loyalty,
only rhyme.
They’ll caress you with verses,
but hide their kiss behind allegories.
When you look into their eyes,
they see a muse,
not a woman.
They’ll love you in one stanza,
and forget you in the next refrain.
And when you hurt them,
they’ll immortalize you in a poem
as a guilt they refuse to bear.
Poets have hearts made of paper;
every woman leaves a trace,
then words are laid over the wounds.
They keep their loves in folders,
with beautiful titles and no dates.
So, don’t fall in love with poets…
Unless you’re ready
to be a verse
not a story.
