Poet
Man
Here’s a toast to you –
A mead; a contract of love, concocted from lavender,
roses,
mistletoes,
and the blood of a crow –
my Hera,
my Aphrodite,
my Athena,
My Goddess.
Woman
Hera’s a bitch, a possessive insecure woman
Aphrodite’s beauty is beyond comparison; but that is all there is to it
Athena is a stubborn woman; a mule. A stone.
And I am no Goddess.
Man
You are the four seasons, then.
As warm as a summer breeze,
As beautiful as the colour of spring,
As mesmerizing as the falling leaves of autumn
And as hypnotizing as the snow of winter
Woman
A summer breeze dries my skin,
The colour of spring hurts my eyes,
The falling leaves is a nuisance,
And winter is cold.
Man
Well then, in the absence of
A better way to describe what you are
To me,
I will say, nay, I say it now,
With the weight of my heart on its back;
You are,
My love, my life.
And these words I convey to you,
For you make me feel
Like I want to be
A better man.
Woman
But that word is so beautiful.
For you – in the absence of
A better way to describe what you are –
Are my spring, my autumn, my summer,
And my winter.
You are
My love, my life
A better man you will be, aye
But a different man you will not.
Because I love you
Just the way you are,
My poet.
Poet
Then allow your most humble alleged poet
To give you my greatest gift.
It may not be much,
But it is the best this man can do.
Allow me to tell you a story, love.
A love story.
Listen closely.
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