I see words appear in the air
I ****** them up as they're floating there
Placing them gently onto the page
They help to write, what I have to say

They're mixed together with dashes and dots
Which eventually become punctuation marks
I still have a few I keep chilled in the fridge
When I need a sentence to end I crack open the lid

Apparently I'm the only one who can see
This cache of words that swirl in the breeze
Which is fine by me cause it gives me the time
To pick and choose what's needed for the perfect rhyme