ravished
okay, it’s true
I’m ravished by poems.
lines brush me awake at
twelve, one, two
if I resist getting up, they’ve
vanished by dawn.
gone. I’m left bereft
words stalk, draw me
from bed—most every
night now—a phrase
threads through me
like tendrils of dreams,
shakes me and won’t let go
until they find their home
here on the page.
I’ve given up
no more withholding.
words, have your way
confide to my heart
pry me open
play me, your flute
2022 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—they may never turn into anything more or they might flower.
the heart of the matter 
Skye, This is wonderful!!! Yes, it is specific enough, you are describing a process, You’ve got “lines brush me awake at 12, 1, 2” Very specific and clear. ” a phrase threads through me like tendrils of dreams” lovely image. “words have your way confide to my heart pry me open play me, your flute” Very visual, and beautifully worded. A fine and finished poem, Skye!
Did it come after the bead one? That sometimes happens when you work on a difficult poem..you get a gift poem afterwards. It is a joy to read your work! Hugs🥰
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Yes, it came yesterday. Thank you for reading!
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Sounds like a beautiful love affair
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Sure is. A little exhausting!
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