I want to write and write and write.
Unfurl words,
curled like new ferns
inside me.

It is almost painful.
A joyful, beautiful pain
that breathes in
in-formation
through my senses.

Finally.
To pick up a pencil and
release, release.
Into this compact notebook
that promises to carry my dreams
on a sailboat into the night.

Oh, I just want to let them flow out
like rainwaters along the edges
of paved streets.
Flow out and trickle
into ears and eyes
and open like flowers
in moist mouths.

Moist mouths that kiss and whisper,
and relish shapes
of poetry.

You can follow any comments to this post through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can make a comment, or trackback from your own site.