will you dance with me

I've been reading  a book that I like quite a bit.  Although every time I think that perhaps I can write, that perhaps I have a bit of talent or creativity, I pick up a book like this and realize that everything I want to write, has been written better, and long ago by someone else.  If winter comes.
There it is.
I'm not supposed to post poems.  I should be serious and stick to physics or write nothing at all which I did for a time and will do again.  But I like to write poems, those strange unremitting things which don't rhyme that I call poetry that tell what I think unclearly, but with more clarity than I could write in prose.

I listen to music
and i think
about what would it be
if you were with me
what would you think
of the songs I spin
would you fill my dream
and would you dance with me.
to the upbeat sad songs
that so many like
but no one understands
the same way
why can't I
every morning
turn on my music
and dance with you