I opened the door and there she was, smiling as if the sun had finally broken the clouds. "I'm feeling love " I said, she tilted her head, feathering a question that teased my pride: "Why must a woman always cook?". I smiled, the quiet smile of a man who knows irony is love's favorite trapdoor, and answered: "You feed the heart that takes refuge in a woman and never leaves her alive." She laughed, a sound like the air itself: "A prisoner doesn't choose his cell. You walked in and locked the door , don't pin the blame on me." I closed the distance, one step to launch my poem: "I'm serving a life sentence, but life inside your arms is the gentlest sentence ever written." She raised her hand, and something had begun: "If you are the captive, I am the judge of love. My words are never discussed except by a kiss." Right there into poetry, I drew her in my mind like a warrior riding into a battle and whis...
My blog is dedicated to poetry.