Never Fall in Love With a Poet

#Never Fall in Love With a Poet

It's a dangerous business,
falling in love with a poet.

 
We are like whirlpools.
We are gaping, angry black holes

 
in the fabric of things.
We will grasp at anything

 
beautiful enough to fall
into our orbit, and consume you

 
whole, grinning and licking
our hungry, love-chapped lips.

 
Eager for the next morsel…
the next flimsy ship to wander

 
into our unlucky embrace.
We will wring you out, squeezing

 
you like suede deerskin,
panning your bones for gold pebbles

 
which we wear like trophies.
And even if you leave,

 
the places where we once resonated,
you and I, will hum and hiss and warble

 
through the air, an endless distress call:
Mayday, mayday: here be dragons.

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