He said he had made it a rule not to date poets.
They were too sensitive, too emotional, he reasoned.
To a poet, each argument was Armageddon;
Every less-carefully chosen word was an insult.
Poets drained him, emotionally, he complained.
In trying to find happiness, they sucked all the joy
From life and those around them.
She asked him what made her different.
He said it was the way her mouth moved
Into a kiss when she talked and the presence
Of a mischievous lightning in her eyes when
She looked at him. She thanked him for his
Compliments and kissed him on the cheek.
A few breathless moments had passed
When she inquired if he was a poet as well.
He turned his face towards the wall and said nothing.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen