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.



6 thoughts on “Dreaming

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