Why do you smell like
You’ve eaten poetry for lunch
And munched on metaphors
And swallowed the lithe
Similes of time?
Why do you sound like
You’ve written poetry at school,
With vowels and syllables
Punching your gut on every
Inch of rhyme?
Why do you look like
Your eyes are poetry
And your pupils are diluted
With colours of the wind
And the liquid of your
Eyes is poetry’s molten form?
Why do you look like
You are a flesh with poetry,
With your sang
Carrying the colourful hues
Of your beauty?
But even still
Why is this poetry
kept unread and unopened?
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