love a woman who reads not your poems

love a woman who reads not your poems
for poetry is only what she dreams in sleep
let the storm crash and pages be dampened
she hears not a word from you what happened
but punctuates your life with commas and dashes 
exclamation marks and ending periods
picking up with you in another verse
pick it apart, it can become worse

love a woman who forgoes reading blogs
with a ringside seat to your circus
she knows your clowns and acrobatics
your frowns and antibiotics
drinks with you the wine of celebration
puts puzzle pieces perfectly juxtaposed 
with practical solutions right under your nose
with you in her heart, the journal stays closed

love not a woman for novel ideas 
translucent history over the years
with thunderclap downpours reeling you in
and forgiven flashbacks of forgotten times
she passes the chapters that ended in blaze
the pot-boiling heroines that led you astray
untitled, unnumbered, her masterpiece, you
and counts not the volumes binding you two

love only a woman who messages back
with instant cartoons of emotion
wordlessly wandering smiles away
a speechless type of keyboard
void of critique or double entendre
only bedtime stories of unwritten genre
dreary-eyed in an unconscious stream
love a woman who reads your dreams

Sept. 17, 2016