Sylvia. Ted.

Ted Hughes.
Sylvia Plath.
I read a poem, She read a poem.
Her voice twinged with a faint smile as the words cranked out. Slight embarrassment we both felt first opening our mouths to content.

Confidence builds and behold we’re poets, each of us too!
Until we let the rhythm assume us, should it presume
To take us up and muse
Like experienced wordsmiths, carving the sounds with our virgin tongues, until

Blue we see it, blue til noon.