It Never Reached Me

When poetry came to lay alabaster lips upon eager writers
It never reached me
It stood in front of us as everything and nothing
Its touch breathing the artful craft of turning perspective into metaphors
The shape took no form of a gender but as humanity itself
I watched make believers transform into poets
Their forms never changed but the process shone in the eyes
turning cerulean hues into oceans
It reached multicolored tendrils of smoke out to caress my cheek
Its touch never reached me
The essence of poetry didn’t possess eyes
But I could taste its revulsion sharp and heavy
It abhorred my existence
The figure wavered slipping out of reach
Poetry left me a novelist in a sea of poets.