The poet sometimes writes things that aren't true. But that's not the same when I speak untruthfully to you. It isn't that I actually tell you a lie. I simply let what I should mention silently drift by. I don't offend you in person, yet in the poem I do? But when did the poem ever need to be true? Can I disregard the truth and be madly in love with you? Irresponsible love helps both my poem--- escaping what's greedy and true--- and myself---who avoids the truth, never once offending you. I am silent. You love me for this. A poet, I lie melodically, and the rest of the time, we kiss.
