When you no longer have time

to receive my verse,

to accept the rhymes

that I reherse.

Yet you, still,  are my muse

regardless of my heart’s folly,

or what I’ll use

(in terms of technology)

To deliver my lines

and my romance;

my feelings refined;

my desire to dance;

When you’ve put communication on the shelf,

I’ll find ways to write, and dance with myself.