My Lover, the Poet

Have you met my lover, the poet?

And by meeting, can you know her
slow caress of words?
Some verse, rehearsed
familiar to both our tongues

Some days I believe 
I know her by heart
mistaken to think
I know her heart

Have you met my poet, the lover?

Sometimes my friends and I choose a word or phrase and then each write a piece to include it. Here, we chose the phrase “my lover, the poet.” In this piece I imagine myself as the poet about whom the speaker is writing.


You are afraid of what others might say
how it looks to be seen with me.
I'm ready to take my tender heart home.

Better to be sad about what is real
than what is imagined.

So that's why I ask:
why so worried?
what story have you spun for yourself
about this
about any of this?