she sat on the edge of the couch with tears and snot streaming, inconsolable in her grief

damn it if she didn’t find a way to make sorrow look sexy

i told you not to fall in love with a poet

she collapsed in a heap on the floor, shapely legs and smooth skin

he understood me

i want to laugh but don’t, to all my detractors, i am capable of being considerate

you are a goddamned fool, he sucked the life from you and vomited it on the page and when you were wilted, a shadow, a memory, what did he do? found a new muse

not that considerate

you just don’t understand! how could you? old and bitter and alone with only your words no one wants to read, your books they wouldn’t burn to keep themselves warm, you are a nobody that no one will ever love

she had me there, but i was wise to the act, soon enough the tears would dry and she would ask me if she was pretty

beautiful, I would reply

she’d ask for a poem

i would oblige

then we would spend an hour or two running our mouths over each other before she rocked back and forth on top of me, my hands on her hips, her hands playing with her beautiful breasts, until we passed out

she would flee before i woke up ready for another go

then a week or two will go by before she is sobbing again because some other poet broke her heart or promised the moon and only delivered with gravel

can we skip the dramatics and just go to bed, it was a long day and i am feeling tired

she sniffed delicately and smiled up at me, the storm had passed

goddamned poets and their silvery tongues