We've been reading lately.
Between video games and silence
he gets inspired and starts to write.
"Can I continue to read, " I ask
He's already struck-
the pen has him
by the *****.
So I sit
and
wait.

I decide to pen a quick one myself.

He writes confessional poems.
One by one each gets tapped away
on the phone. Says he writes about
his thoughts or his day.
So maybe- just maybe
this one will be about me.

Why not, I tell myself.
I'm part of his life
his poetry is about life.
I get myself a little excited.
Then try and play it cool.

He asks, " Do you want to hear it?"
"Of course," I reply.
He reads
and my balloon is
popped
another brilliant piece,
yet again not about me.

It's fantastic to be with a poet.