From the desk of the poet who needs to shower and write her english paper,

Poetry is not love

And love, not poetry

Be not won by words that flow

Like nectar to hummingbird

Many poets lie to lie

So be not won by words

Be not won by glances

Those, you cannot prove

Be not won by song

Though it may cling like honey to the ear

Be not won by good intensions

Those are but brightly colored chalk on sidewalk

Washed away by mists of moisture

Be won instead by the contents of your own heart

False heart cannot prove false to itself

Therefore, your heart will remain true to your own questioning

And, by chance yours align with another

Do what you will

Proclaim, hasten breath

Or whatever your false heart's desire

For hearts are not false in moment passing

Only in comet streaks and lightening strikes whereon 'forever' is spoke.