My process is…
What is my process actually?
Start to type… don’t over think?
Spill onto page… well over the brink?
Is that my process?
I don’t really think so
Oh my word! I don’t think I have one
All my words I just love so…
I’m sprung
My poetry and I
My craft and I
What we have is true love… fluid
I just write… if I ‘draft’ this may just die
So I have no process
I just begin and let this ‘true love’ thing possess
My heart, body and soul
And it feels so easy
I want to laugh now because I just read my last two lines and they read so cheesy
But I’ll keep them, I don’t have the heart to rip them
Off this piece
I feel I should round up all the ‘love’ ambassadors… hippies, Cupid… Et cetera
And speak to them of this peace
And if I could speak to my poetry I would have said to her
I never expected her
To be this much of a reliable outlet for my feelings
My beloved artistic release.