A Different Kind of Poet
Poets always notice the little things,
The colour of her eyes, the pallor of her skin.
Silver words have crafted in me
A yearning for your regard, your poetry.
There is in touch the soft, secret smile
Of two craftsmen meeting awhile,
That rare space we both write in,
Yours in looks, mine, in pen.
We are a different type of poet, you and I,
I write, I dream, you derive and apply.
I love the scientist, the way an artist does,
You smile, and fondly endure, because:
It is in opposition, other ends of the line
That we create our best work, combined,
Even as I engrave my sonnets on your skin,
Your skilled, subtle chemistry unwinds my meter,
Creating a mesh of both, something akin,
To perfection, nirvana, if only fleeting.
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