-7 en

i looked through the window. i looked or you looked?
and why do you care? And do you, or do i?
why i lose so many dark times in the i and you?
you say: why you lose so many times in the i and you?
you know: the us that forms the you and me.
and i could dwell in the delight of these letters, count the words that multiply on the touch of fingers to keyboard and then you pose that question to me: of what are living poets poets and writers writers? what do they eat? how? to recover the work of the day to the delight of others?
but i don't stop, perhaps because i am a poet poet or a writer writer or nothing.
but today, perhaps because i simply am not in the mood, i let the days slip until next week.