Don't forget to smell the flowers

We met at a lovely sushi restaurant. When he walked in, I knew he was not for me but never=the =less, I always enjoy meeting new people. He was much older than he looked which was a plus. From several wives, women, he accumulated 8 children, 2 adopted.
He must have told me 2 times at least what he did but I still could not figure it out; somehow his sentences rambled making no sense to me. No matter what I said, he turned it into a lecture with questions period. With crossed hands, probably feet too, holding on to the table he went on to many topics asking many questions. I knew he was struggling. To impress me? to show himself how bright he was? As the evening went on (food delicious) I was becoming more and more exhausted and bored. Finally, I told him in the nicest way possible, because he was nice, that he was quite intense. He said, "I have been told that before," I assume he thought it was a compliment and so he continued on. When the dessert menu came and he asked what I wanted, I knew I could not stay any longer, I had to get out. But then too ease his pain, I asked him, "What is your favorite flower" "Alpine, he responded. I asked when he first saw it and what it was about the flower that made him love it. Slowly, he uncrossed himself, leaned back opening his arms wide and smiling. "You are good, he said." You see I took him out of his pain and performance and brought him down to love. I stood up and said, "You need a hug, keep it simple my friend," and left the restaurant. Here is the poem he sent the next day.
Alpine flower, clear and bright
Perfection not purpose, is your plight
Delicate and graceful, upright on barren soil
Each pedal a dream, and a sensual foil
Robust and resilient, many seasons you have seen
Not cynical nor jaded, by winter, nor by drought
You guard your self, lest someone doubt
The true beauty that sits and resides in thee
Even a blind man cannot diminish the beauty that be
To be seen is not the reason thou be, more now
Hands need not prove your gentle touch
It is real, to those and all with much
A headless man could never taste, nor smell,
All that makes your spirit alive and well
The same you are, no more, nor less
It is not about any of the rest,
You hold the key to your inner beauty that be