Poetry. The art of rhythmical composition written or spoken. Literary work in magical form, verse or prose. But I think the dictionary has it wrong sometimes because poetry is not always something to read or see or hear. Poetry is felt. Poetry can be in a moment, a fleeting moment. Poetry was in that car. And whether you like to believe it or not, you were my poetry and poetry. Poetry was in that moment. We're at a stoplight. It's a dark night and a loud frisco drive. But in this car, at this moment, the silence feels alive. And he turns to me with a puzzle written on his face, miles and shakes his head, turns and looks away. You would take down an army with those looks. And yet, you're here with me. For the first time I noticed how sadly, better sweet his recentment must be. For his first comment on my beauty to be unirvingly confused. It's not that he doesn't feel worthy. He's only doomed with a blindness to what I could possibly see. So I look out the window and bite my nails. What do I say? When even I felt a pinpoint how I'm falling for this one man. Maybe you're the only one. I tell him that I'm the only one who's done this. And he smiles softly as a left-wing train. And