A/N: This poem was created from my inspiration of a story on Wattpad called 'The Poet' The author of the book is the one I'm dedicating this too. The picture I'm using for description in this poem is the one on the cover... Hope you enjoy.
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The Poet And Me
The way his hand caresses his face,
As if in disappointment or disgrace.
The way his rings sit on his fingers,
His fingers on his face they linger,
He is so silent yet he talks so loud.
The presence of a lion,
The wisdom of an owl.
The way his eyes hardly meet my gaze,
But when they do it sends me into a daze.
His lips call to me,
But talk not one word.
Even though he wont speak,
He knows he is heard.
And when he speaks,
The way his words roll off his tongue,
Gosh! It has me sprung.
The way he presents himself,
Like a piece of art.
You wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
I've wondered before,
How it would feel,
To have my lips touch his.
How would I deal?
To have him touch my face,
With those hands of his.
How would it feel,
To have his eyes stare into mine,
I think I would surely loose track of time.
Would I love? Would I lust?
Maybe both of the above.
But this is just fantasy you see,
The poet and me.
Thank you for reading xx
