Oh to gift one with my words
on day where Christmas nears.

To shop in supermarket of mind
that carries variety.

Oh to have musical visions play
in aisles as I dance in verse.

Oh to find the perfect phase,
as I maneuver in a place
where winds of reality stay outside
and consciousness blooms.

Oh to move in an emporium of heartbeats
to tickle page with wares I find.

Oh to gift the reader and poets
who gather to check out my
stash of jargon.

Oh to celebrate,
the one who ingests my lines
for they are a gift themselves.