My First Love

To my first "love"--
If you thought this poem was going to be about you
You are sadly mistaken
This is for my first real love
Who made me fall in love with words and language
Whose metaphors send shivers down my spine
He introduced me to the essence of synecdoche and metonymy 
His rhythm makes me dance indefinitely
His cadence forcing me to catch my breath frequently
Infinite snaps to you, baby
And when his lines are harmonious
I swear I am on cloud nine
Getting off of that high is the last thing on my mind
Staring into his melancholy eyes
Allows me to see the world in a new light
He defies all of which I have ever known
Breaking rules that I've learned for years in school
Some see his madness as a delusion
I'd rather say that is exactly what he is acknowledging 
About this dry-ass reality
He is often misunderstood
His words often misconstrued
But I am infatuated by them
When he speaks to me
I am easily romanced by them 
Or easily confused
And I wonder if the way he speaks to me
Has made other hearts fall in love with him just as easily
I try to read between his lines
Dissect his stanzas
Look beyond his melodic phrases
Because real eyes realize real lies
His paradoxes are what stump me the most
The irony of them makes me wonder
And when wonder becomes questions 
Become assumptions become accusations
Becomes distrust becomes having had enough
He sweet talks me once again
And I fall in love with him once again
This is for you, my love
This, is for Poetry.