Each word is swirling as do fingers following lines on conch shells.
To the base? Or to the tip?
Either winds hypnotically in a march.
This march causes chemical reactions.
Vibrations onto vibrations onto signals onto receptions.
Hormones cause smiles and smiles cause divinity.
Letters are inhaled piece by piece.
Each bead on this string slips down onto the tongues of inquirers and splashes like water drops-
That is me. My tongue moistened by licks of fascination.
Yes, I'm the one in the corner with my hand perched kinetically around my ballpoint. The index finger pre-moistened.
It aches for the page flip it deserves.
I'm the one wishing for pages to be filled, and each breath draws inspiration from all corners.
I reach for each word at full stretch.
The ones meant to be caught will give in, and the inspiration will bloom.
The ones not yet ripe will cling to their buds as do infant marsupials to cautious mothers.
Someday they will come to me with open hearts. I will find them when Time finds it necessary.
But this will only occur if the pen wills it so,
If the divinity follows the smile,
If the hormones initiate the happiness,
If the signals are administered by the brain,
If the brain understands the vibrations,
If the words create the disturbance that forces the writer to write.