I never write a poem,
She writes me.
Sometimes in compulsion
Sometimes in catharsis
Sometimes in dopamine.
But rarely in ecstasy, poetry,
Thou baddest of all witch.
Thy wicked winks most of the time
In the valley of tide and wane,
Dazzles in apparent tranquility
Again a psychotropism.
Poetry thou seems, will never spare me.
Though I'd write a few lines
even in twilight sky
In form of cloud flake
By feather of homeward avian
A few tiered flick in.
I never write a poem,