A rainstorm of words, A twister of thoughts blunder inside my mind like a spinning top,

It will not seize nor do I want it to; I am a writer and this is what I do,

I scribble letters upon pages of white and decorate them with sounds and smells, I fill them with magic; force my words to whisper, mumble or yell,

I never let one inside my mind; its blundering, blinding, dangerous to find,

Unless you dare to let me explain the euphoria, the ecstasy, the words that

I love that may drive you insane.

I can only give you a pathetic glimpse of what it feels to be in my shoes;

my shoes of grey that direct me to roads of gold;

Shoes that tread on dirt as words form across my lips and dance into the still air;

They spin, they flutter, they fall upon my skin and I smile at the feeling,

being touched and caressed all at once living, breathing without a care,

It is your mouth being kissed by the purest mouth with the softest lips,

It is your heart falling into a bath of emotions,

My mind is a lovely frenzy of nothingness,

My body solely receiving pleasure through the newfound letters and words,

It is lying bare among petals of roses; complete sweet bliss;

It is infinite love.