Nothing scares me more than inspiration stampeding towards me
I can feel her coming on like lightning bolt
As I sit in the distance eyeing her songs and poems and sonnets and anecdotes
Spiraling with great effort towards me
She has given me a net and a silk floral dress
For she has grown weary in the heavens
Living as idea and essence
Preferring a life of the palpable
To walk amongst the lay of men
To sleep within the threads of a woman
And yet I can only feel the chaos of her wash upon me,
As I throw her net into the great gulp of her eye
And I capture nothing but the pure feeling of
Her wrath in between the seams of my silk dress.

I feel the heat and irregular heartbeat wash over me. The widen of my eyes and my bodies surprise at something that feel so good makes me so low. You lift me up and make me lower than a dog in a ditch. I come back for your addiction,  and cuddle the affliction. I skip around the room on you,  ignoring my impending doom. Making friends with the sober introverts in the room. You embarrass me, but my veins and blood are too blind to see, and my voice too scared to speak. Inhaling you slowly, with my eyes closed in pleasure only a woman truly embracing her demons can feel. You're what's real,  you're all I feel. My heel. And as I start to come down looking for a card or razor I remember that I'm a ******* mess in a ***** dress, nothing more than a hidden bore with an addict's appeal

dripping rose red
clung to the curves,
the hips and *******

laced backs peeking
to shoulder blades
and pinprick skin

echoing clasping heels
ripple of fine fabric
bouncing jazz music

dazzling yellow lights
bare neck and white teeth
arms tucked to the side

fiercely dazzling

Fingers touch my lips,
run through my hair,
undo my tie, and fits of laughter
cut through the noise and chatter
of an anxious mind.

I leave my worries behind,
pressed against her dress
on the floor with my discarded tie.
An echo. A kiss. A sigh.
What it is to be alive!
What it is to be alive.