Inky gymnasts.
Maybe that's what we are all
Curved, poised, stretched around pens
Our fingers like those dancer ones, on the mats,
Maybe that's what we're like with keyboards
Jumping along performing each move
With a flourish, a florid metaphor
Or something matter-of-fact
That is possibly more poignant
Than overuse of imagery
(deduce ten points!)
S'weird though when you have
Nothing to refer to inside wise
I'm just flexing wildly with no mat to land on.