She came to me as a poem.

A very beautiful poem.

Whom now I understand that I didn’t understand.

she was dressed in syllables so different, so distant one would swear they were of a foreign language.

Her verbs danced to a rhythm so smooth and yet so profound it pained not to touch her.

She truly was antique scroll with sweet brown old mold spoils around the edges,

Yet she is new.

Her name was poetry.

Sphere Writer