he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky

The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out

The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found

when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn

The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on

And when he's gone
Silence.

Humming a soft tune
came down the wind
With airy fingers,
it tousled my hair
Rubbing its cold cheeks
on mine, tickling me,
it reeled round
tugging at my skirt
like a naughty kid
and amorously lifting it up
like a lover
Like soft tendrils
it coiled all around me
inviting me for a waltz

Between hushed breaths
and murmured tones
it talked to me endless
whispering sweet nothings
in my attentive ear

I felt love pouring down on me

I wished to cage it
to enjoy its sweet company
But like an apparition,
it disappeared into thin air!

I couldn’t follow its trail
but as it passed, I saw
a tumbleweed tremble
far above the ground!