I want to write that poem…
that grabs you by the head
twists your reluctant gaze in its direction
as train wrecks and nymphs routinely do;
that collides with your heart
ice pick or first love
thuds through miles of veins;
that glimmers dewdrops on your skin
whispering of sunrise and erupting volcanos;
that touches you at the core
-not in the creepy Trumpian p-grabbing way-
in the way that lights your essence on fire,
a slow smoldering that torches a forest
in an eyeblink.
I want to write that poem…
that centipedes among your synapses
imprinting thousands of indelible footprints
secreting sticky neurotoxins
irreversibly remodeling your thoughts;
that impels you to scribble snippets
on gum wrappers and tissues
and tuck them in your bra, pocketless,
so as not to lose your precious thought-gems.
I want to write that poem…
that leaves you gasping, open-mouthed,
at the import and audacity astutely conveyed;
that compels leaping, hastening to impale yourself
on a metaphor more subtle, clever
and perceptive than mine;
that holds you hostage in it’s spell
spun whole and part.
I want to write that poem…
that drips tears upon your shirt
eye-wiping forgotten
oblivious in your mesmerization;
that incites a knowing lip-curl
hand to heart exclaiming “me too!”
that caresses your forearm
raising hair and intimate tingling
as only a lover can do.
I want to write that poem…
that ratchets your pulse skyward
plummeting in sensory freefall;
that leaves you hanging by your fingernails
from a precipice, breath unraveling,
in anticipation of the ultimate climax;
that tranquillizes in the afterglow
leaving you satisfied as only
a screaming word-gasm can.
In the meantime, I write this.
Insights from "Inside" 