This Does Exist In Me Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

There has to be a poem or two in me,
Somewhere.
One that reeks of sweetened floral scents.

There has to be at least one knuckle to bare,
From either my left or right hand,
That has been moisturized and softened...
To expose a nail manicured with care.
Which hand should I consider,
To have that done?

There has to be a few words I pick,
To express a thorough happiness...
Sniffed and uplifts in this thick atmosphere.

I'm sure there are a few lines I can select.
Connected to ooze with the nectar of life.
I am already sickened by the thought of it.
Although I am sure 'someone' would take delight.

I know this does exist in me!
I am a poet.
And I know it.
With talents to dispense...
Drama, suspense or tragedy.

With the decision to choose a topic,
That either flows undisturbed through lush meadows.
Or bites.
It doesn't have to be liked.
Especially if I am not into an adulation seeking mood.
As I compose this prose I write.

'How do you know when it is finished? '

That's a good question.
Something inside me knows.
And I am made aware.
It is like a craving that has been fed.
It says what it says in my head and leaves.