Oh, the anticipation.
The itchy fingers and the listening mind.
The stirring of coffee, muse and time.
Oh, the procrastination.
The organization of desk and drawer.
The obsession over unfinished chores.
Oh, the celebration
when a few words kern their way
to the lonely page to play.
Oh, the annihilation
of a phrase that just won’t flow,
of the writer’s eggshell ego.
Oh, the elation.
When it all falls into place.
when through our veins we trace
our way back and begin
to breathe again.