Poetry?
Or dare?
Or both?
When you stretch the poetry, darling,
sadly, nothing could be further
from the poetry.
Come, my love,
it’s the moment of poetry.
Seat yourself comfortably.
Pull on your bohemian hat.
Cup your spicy tea in your trembling hands.
Open your book.
Clear your throat.
I want the whole poetry,
nothing but the poetry.
You may be miserable now,
but speak.
Speak loudly.
Scream it out.
The poetry will set you free.
Please, love, don’t lie to me.
Confess!
You cannot bury the poetry
behind your narrative façade.
I see you hiding behind your veil,
telling lies,
delving in mysteries,
taking me down tangents with your rehearsed stories.
But I’m not the least bit fooled.
I will eventually discover your poetry.
Dearest gypsy,
face the simple poetry.
We love each other.
We always will.
Your three words are closer to the poetry than you know.