I doubt I even have to tell you...
I'd been staring at the phone for a good fifteen minutes,
biting my winter-chapped lips as my stomach folded itself into figure eights.
Pools of rich emerald and smoldering oak swam over a blank document,
scrambling for any misplaced creativity
I could use tonight.
But there's an evident echo in the caverns of my mind
as every cell in me swarmed with jolts of electricity.
Hey, Mr. Bright Eyes,
What color should I paint the sky?
I've got a fistful of silenced soliloquies hiding in my pocket
and giggles to fill the varnished armoire in the corner.
Lie under the Cherry Blossom trees with me
and watch the ripples in the nearby pond.
I'm high off the sound of your voice.
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