Poetry courses through my veins and arteries

I feel the words climb up my spine

and the sentences climb back down

I am all aware now

though half asleep

Dreaming in my own writer’s way

Me, my fingers and this keyboard

Spin in our own world

The rest of the world just outside this bubble

I am not poet now as much as I am poetry

I am words, metaphor

Loss and beauty

Breathing in soliloquy

In solitude

In infinite verse