Minds vibe
Pens collide
Hearts pouring
Souls stirring
Using Braille for poetic tales for only our eyes to see.
He was my inkspiration,
my muse, the very core of me.
My hearts counterpart
My before and after
My complicated melody, my beautiful disaster.
My complicated melody, my beautiful disaster.
He would touch that spot in me and let his ink drip
He’d tease me with cup after cup of his poetic intellect
He’d tease me with cup after cup of his poetic intellect
He’d whisper my name, his “bolt of lightning”
Because apparently, I’m silent yet electrifying (lol)!
Even simple conversations shared between us was poetic
His words left with me low on insulin and had me diabetic
Sense of taste- gone, his love left me blind
Saw he had found a new muse…a new rhythm to his rhyme.
I look back on the love we shared that’s now folded on lines of loose papers
As I reminisce on the sweetness of our chemistry as I sit back, and it’s bitter.
Sometimes I still feel his handwriting every night
maybe use his pen on me, crafting a few lines...
maybe write another masterpiece by letting our stanzas intertwine
But for now I’ll keep the memories of us folded in a corner of my mind.
I will honestly admit that it’s hard to let go
My pen is no longer ink-spired because his absence has shifted my flow.
His name is invisibly tattooed on my heart
I fell deeply in love with him the first time I read his work of art.
And even though I am hurt beyond belief I try my hardest not to show it
So I keep the memories of yesterday close to my soul
and regret the night I fell in love with a poet.
