This is free style writing. I just put my hands on the keyboard and write with no corrections or rewording.
With intense passion and lust for words, I abandon all reason and give myself over to the poet. I’m ensnared. The more I read, the more I hear them read, the more my heart just melts. I don’t want a physical relationship, don’t want anything but the words. I sound like an addict, like a girl who can’t drink the words just once, she can’t stop taking it in until she’s falling down drunk.
I wrote off being a poetess long ago. It hurt to write, it goes too deep and is too clear and real. Give me a little of your word play, lots of imagery and maybe guess work at the end of the line. Give it, but don’t ask anything in return.
I’m a fool in love with the weaver of words, words that make me drool, make my eyes roll back in my head, make me taste them when they fall from my tongue. The words of a poet are a trap, surely they must know the impulse is too strong to hold back. I’ll take the bait . No concern for anything, just head first, deep end, ink on paper.