Sometimes we get the itch.
It's annoying & persistent & insatiable.
We've all felt it,
that hand twitch when you hear
pen against paper,
that foot tap while you mumble
to yourself.  
It's actually quite natural.
It happens because
our bones are filled with syntax,
our skin is parchment
& our thoughts are iambic meters.
If they were to draw blood,
unwritten love poems would
bleed out of us.
We can't help it.
We can't help it that
sonnets & haikus & tankas & free verses
line our lungs,
that we breathe in rhymes.
Because if we try to repress
our God-given inclination
we'll get **the poet's itch.