I am here yet not really here. My words are footprints fading on a well-worn path. I am not walking alone nor am I writing out a new trail of ink to mark my passing. I have found myself by getting lost in a dream, again. The secret key to my release is to drench myself in wonder and sink into passion, bathe in moonlight, let it launch me into the arms of a thousand-fold touches where finger-tip tongue-tip lip-meet-skin-seek is all there is to live for. I wake up asleep to dream out loud — busting and bursting — orgasming-riding inspiration — my every part pimpled with buds blossomed, dripping petals, unleashing green.
When I opened my eyes this morning, no more was the dark, yet even under the clouds, it was me, the child giving a blanket-peek out into the wild wonder at every tree rejoicing-swaying full with open leaves. In the yesterdays before, the branches still had bare patches, the leaves still shy and small, and fluffs of pollen were floating about seeming on a mission to single me out, itch at my eyes and make me a misery. More yellow-brown parts were like scabs on the ground… if only I could pull the greener, fresher grass over it like I can a sheet, I would have.
With all awake now, the May has seduced me easily. May… the all too familiar lover haunting my bed. The muse, He pulls and I tug back. I take up my pen, my brushes, lick the tips, and begin…
My breakthrough has come.