Fits of Writing
August 10, 2013
In the moment, body quaking
The nerves thrum with a thirst not slaked
Words tremble and shiver in a sensuous vibration
That refuses to heed this feeble soul’s hesitation
And so the pen scrawls ugly black welts
Upon the creamy ivory white sheet
Until at last the body slumps at dawn
And the words have retreated into the calm
0 snaps·0 views
View on Power Poetry →