This is not a poem. Please stop reading. I'm a bore.
If you should continue, you'll be needing time to snore.
Although I keep on writing, you're invited to ignore
the rhymes, for time is passing, and so far I've written four
lines. Your mind is mine now, as we head toward the door
to where your staring witness shows my fitness for no more,
or less than this confessionary sharing from my core.