It looks like a vague visual of your nigga walking down the street but too far away to tell. It smells like a sweet essence but you don't know where it's emanating from. Mixed fruit and vegetables in the produce section of the corner store. It sounds like a mysterious squeak or bump in your house when you are all alone and the lights are off. It feels like the oohhs and aahhs you get and then the daps and compliments after you finish spitting a flow you made up the previous day.
Poetry is the alternate rap style.
Poetry smells like the steak my mother makes for dinner with all the seasonings and toppings I like. Poetry feels like a Jim Dandy ice cream from Friendly's with all the topping in the world going lavishly down the back of my throat. Poetry looks like a mysterious woman waiting for the A train. Poetry smells like the aroma of a different country. Poetry tastes like the sip of a beverage when you are blindfolded.