Intoxicated by word and thought, someone else's words on a silken draft. If they were mine I would wrap them in the cocoon of you. Intoxications as words are drugs for me, with images becoming part of a life I don’t understand. Capabilities slip into my needs. Wondering and knowing at the same time where this intemperance goes, is slips into torrid verbal rambles. One movement away could cause me to choke on the power of the silken page. Once again I am feeling my hand run across your face, embossed, while writing my story of a true, tender moment, beginning to surrender to verbal jousting. This is what I do when I write!
The hardest thing I have ever done is stop; stop here.
