I the poet, is me the poem. With lilting rhymes marking the thumps of this, this, this, travelling heart. With floating rhythms concocting mem'ries– faded and unseen– by this, this, this, restless mind. With idioms and similes, hiding the evidences of familiar melancholy, and glee. With verses sweet oh, so, sweet, as honey or stinging… Continue reading spell poem with an I
