No, I'm not upset my loves. I'm looking for a poem, a line, or word. One that's not been said before.
I'm looking in the water for lost sounds to describe the colour: dark blue-green, sunshine-drizzled waves, playing with the wind.
I am quite happy laying in this place of light and calm, looking at the light grey clouds, waiting for a drop of rain to come. Waiting for a drop of rain to fall on my lips and quench my thirst for inspiration.
I think, I imagine, I daydream, of poems and lines, and words I would never dare to speak or write. Harsh stanzas that only rhyme with the broken rhythm of life. Fast poems that my tongue will slam in secret around my mouth until the overflow pours out.
I think bills and forms and things I don't want to think about. I look at you and think again about the good things in life, my lovers, my loved ones. Your eyes, I daydream of them looking deep into mine and then snap. Snap out of it.
I am the harsh, the broken, the unrhymed. The torn at the corners, the malfunctioning, the inop chair on a flight. I don't quite know what my purpose is. Goodnight.
This escalated quickly, yes.
But so does life.