I write what I know. I write what I no. I write what is read by few. I write what cannot be read by many. Awe is fodder for all that I right.
Probably Write
He was going
A bout
His busyness
Glimpsing along
When the tome of my life peered
And he abruptly tolled me
Know one
Is going too
Read that!?
And after he went
What remains
Cutting to the quick per use
He is as well
Probably write
A tender read under cover
Bent on not braking
If soully opening up
