Thief

'You steal words,' she said. 

Yes, I do 

I pick them up from the streets

Littered among conversations,

From dirty bar tables,

From lonely trains crowded with people

Words, thick and thin, 

Dropping with sarcasm and malice,

Words steeped in the essence 

Of poetry and wine,

That stink of yellow teeth and cigarette smoke.

Some are tainted with blood, and love. 

Dangerous, safe, clean, filthy,

They are many things

But words they all are. 

I pick them up and bring them home 

With me they stay. 

Some only for hours hang about,

Before slipping out of my pocket,

Into the dark corners of my mind

Where I can't chase them. 

The ones that stay

I train.

I clean them, and string them 

Together in stanzas and couplets

Paint them with thoughts and dreams,

And sell them 

To the highest bidder. 

I am not just a word thief. 

I am a criminal of a higher degree.