Smooth under my sensitive fingertips
Dark ebony tones pleasing to the eye
Grains that swirl together like chocolate
Endless pockets to store and hide secrets
A masterpiece from the depths of
Craftsmanship fit for the gods
So what do you think it's about? I think it's about a desk (yeah, I'm nerdy). I also think I've grown to like writing poems that no one can figure out. (My mom finished reading it: "So what's it about?") It makes me feel smart because I know already. It took me a lot of thinking to get this poem just right (even without using the word desk) and I'm proud of it. It's short (like someone I know) but I don't mind. It's just like it's supposed to be, and that, is that.
P.S. There sure are a lot of parentheses in that post, aren't there? (Sure are.)