Description: This is a poem about poems I've written and would like to write, but without meaning to, I also wound up detailing my entire relationship history, so there's a lot of strange personal significance. Also, I wish they would save more room for title space, because the real title of this is "The Ones I Know and Don't Know but Love".
The Ones I Know and Don't Know... -------------------------------------------
I met the first one crying
cornered on a dance floor
I took its hand and let it dance,
me leading, sweeping, punctuating
until it bravely guided me.
It was the one that left smiling
later telling all its friends.
Then meek little haikus and sonnets in droves.
A fan club of those knowing I give chances.
The storm settled as I went searching again.
I found one shifting nervously at a bus stop
waiting to depart the corner of my REM sleep.
Then there was the poem that kept my heart
in a case on its mantel
until it grew tired of the color red.
Then there was the poem vindicated,
then the poem irritated,
mourning the loss of one exploded
left to melt into the ground.
Then the one that did impressions.
The one who made morning coffee
with too big a smile for morning.
Iíll forever chase the poem that inspires,
Perspires against me in the night,
calls back before the third day.
It would be open to experimentation.
It would find people and mistakes
and all the serious things hilarious.
It would always admire while admired.