June 18, 2008
I fell in love with his words
Not his self.
I am not sure anyone ever saw
His true self.
Though it did not matter
For all heard his words.
His prose was my battle cry
His words were my lullaby.

But words cannot breathe,
Cannot smile.
Words cannot be touched,
Or be kissed.
Words are but markings on a page,
But a breath of wind.

It was the man that I loved.
The words spoken on his tongue,
Despite his cold exterior,
Were driven by passion.
His rants were driven by anger,
His dreams driven by lust.
And though the man is long gone
His words,
They live on.

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