I hugged a poet
He was actually a cameraman
recording, watching, click-thinking, ‘I have captured your words, here, in my film reel mind,
next one, please’.
Then one night, he read a poem. It was of
a woman
undressed, filthy, wrong
unabashedly raw.
He loved, kissed,
occupied her, lips mercy locked upon
a train wreck
that broke him.
Yet he stood there, reciting
a poem. For her.
And I thought, how beautiful.
So when the host said
we could hug a poet
I hugged

Categories: Creative Writing, love, poems, poetry, prose | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

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