Affair with a poet

 

My man knows about my affair with a poet

His eyes shrink when he hears his name

His face wrinkles when he flips through his pages

However, one knows well –

It is better to stay still, as loose as can be

Since there is nothing more superior to an affair with poetry.

 

One night, he revealed his pain

begged me to explain

my motives, my passion,

The poet, I explained, is my every sensation.

He even rapidly lost control

when the poet was in my bed

Not because of his presence

but due to me setting the light

examining his matter tight

gulping every word until last

and my man settled for less.

 

My man knows about my affair with a poet

I know how to read that who does not read me.