she fell for a poet.

Does she know the mistake she has made, Falling in love with a poet? She'll always know what he is thinking, She'll never have to guess what he's feeling. I hope she doesn't mind the papercuts, From the pages he has lived on. Ink splatters, dog-eared corners, bad handwriting, Coffee rings, circling the words of his heart, Where he tried to make the perfect latte for her. But it tasted bad so he drank it himself, And wrote her a poem instead. I hope she knows what she has gotten herself into, Because poets can't just do small talk and little gifts. Poets are hopeless romantics who bleed what is beautiful- Artists in shining armor with a pen as their sword, At constant battle in the trenches of their mind, Just holding out for the peak of the sun upon the horizon. - And she is more beautiful than any sunrise.