I speak in metaphors
feel in colors,  think in painted movie screens

My tongue a sluggish traitor
to the quick flashing shades in my heart

I try to

STOP.

RESET.

START.

but that train of thought has left the station
and editors start to intervene -
before new pictures come fully into focus, the domesticated directors in my mind yell
"CUT"
and that impish tongue obeys

I paddle the air
trying to stir up the scent of what was about to be -
but it refuses to come

ever loyal hands rush to my rescue
cupping temples and eyes
catching fallen thoughts
to later let loose upon paper