He Must Be A Poet

Rhythms hidden
Amidst sentences,
Are flowing
Like a flood,
Passing by the yard.

Dictions used in
Moulding the fiction,
And garments worn
By the words used, were
Like a coconut shell.

The core of those
Lines, sitting on each stanza
Are puzzles
Only a sage can decode.

The breathtaking body of
The tickling text in
A poor page
Makes me marveled
It must be a poet, who
Texted my boo.