I don't want the cliché life most poets live,
Constant thoughts refilled by the oblong steam of coffee, and local microphones
That eccentric hat that displays to the world 'hey look at me.'
The seasonal turtleneck with crossed legs caught in constant wonderment.
The Lectures filled with thought provoking theories.
Although seemingly nice, I long for the reflection of my eyes to stare back at me from the warmth of another.
The steam risen from the furnace of hearts.
To walk from the basement up stairs and enjoy the window seat of eyes that long for compassion,
The picket fence of hands clasped together around a house of bodies.
The pitter patter of tiny feet that resembles what mine use to look like long ago.
With shingles of hair that shine through the bad times, not just the good.
The argument that follows the storm soon to pass.
The seasons that constantly change in your eyes.
Outfitted with different clothes to further build the foundation of each others touch.
The wealth of growing with someone you truly love.
I don't want the cliché story depicted in books and movies,
Told from different actors and actresses.
As very often the script is over written
Leaving out the glorious details that make you all so perfect
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem