~~FlowingOm~~

I used to sit

In bed




Art books piled high

Poetry anthologies

Balanced on my head




Journal and pen at my side




Flipping pages

Diving into

Images



Waiting



For the first line

To jump

From the photographed paint

From the near biographies




Finding it’s way

Onto the soft paper journal

The underside of my wrist




And then words would follow like waterfalls

And in the moonlight

I never knew what words were next



Only that my face was upturned

To the rush

And I knew I could

Breathe underwater



The words formed tapestries

Filled pages

Fed me



I would stay up all night

As if

With

A new lover