I breathe poetry.
Like chlorine gas.
It infects my being.

And,
Who am I to extinguish it in you.
I'd like more of it.

To be honest.
More intimate moments.
Immortalized in a small scale.
Voyeurism.

Anything.
To see.
Anyone bearing their soul.
For that one moment.

Of.

I been there.
I done that.
I'm here with you.

In the static of self doubt.
I love poetry.
It courses through my veins.
Everything is a twenty lined poem.
Struggling to be born.
In the mind of someone.
Living.

You.

You should write more.
I like the threads out here.
In the darkness.