The Hand of the Poet

I'd rather be the beauty in the poem...

To be the meaning she writes about in each line,
To be the love she bleeds out in ink...

Oh, for once, I wonder how it would feel to be someone's poem;
so captivating everyone cannot help but notice.
And to not be the one who feels the unabating ache (of lost love)
behind the hands of the poet.

m.m.m.