He said he was a poet (song version)

He said he was a poet
and I'm a sucker for a man with an aching pen
and a knack for ink and wordplay,

He said he was a poet
so I let him use me as his blank page
to scribe electric words on my fluid skin

Oh, and he burned into me
the stories he could only tell in his dreams
Oh, and he left the marks
from the fire of his silent muse

He said he was a poet
and he knew how to pick up the words I'd trip over
when my tongue was in a tangle

He said he didn't know it
but I knew he could see right through me
when I built up my stained-glass skin

Oh, and the starlight prose
crafted by the breath of his storyteller lips
We wrote of the melting hours
in endless volumes

In perfect synchronicity
with his body vernacular till no inch of me
was left unwritten

He never liked to show it
but the bittersweet taste of temporary
killed the poet under his skin

Oh, and he burned into me
a story I could only feel in my dreams
Oh, and he left the marks
from the fire he used up in me

He said he was a poet
but I never thought he'd leave an incomplete page
with an unfinished story