Words flow but are not a river or a stream.
Passion exuded but it’s not in a dream.
Poetry causes tensions to cease and desist.
Words so calming and smooth the ears cant resist.

I am a poet—even if it’s in my own right.
Brain won’t stop sparking synapses.
Time won’t stop the prolapses of an ego that won’t stop getting excited because of the reactions—from me—a poet— a limerick mind assassin!