Teachers.

Everytime I have a new encounter, my head speaks in poems.

I kiss him, that first connection.
Intimacy started. As it happens...
My heart is singing "are you the teacher of my heart?"

#1 Soft he answered no.
#2 Yes, he said, but not for thee.
#3 Yes, I teach young hearts to break.
(and just as I was sure his teachings were pure, he drowned himself in the pool.)
#4 No, do it once again.
#5 Yes, I teach tired hearts to rest.

Teachers, are my lessons done? I can't take another one.
And they laugh and laugh and ask "are your lessons done?"