Imagine:

An old dusky room on the outskirts of the city. The view from the broken window is a small garden, a puppy, and a kitten. Inside, I am sitting on my study table with an half empty bottle of old ***. There is a noise of typewriter in the air and a smell of books. You pour a hot cup of tea in the saucer and move your hand towards me. I look into your eyes as I take a sip from the saucer. Hands meet hands, eyes meet eyes, lips meet lips. Do you not dream of creating a poetry such as this?