Soon a writer hits a block

When my thoughts are dry
My mind caked and cracked
When my eyes refuse to focus
I go back to you
The beginning of my being
When my head goes into a coma,
Finally a fool’s full stop
All twisted and rumpled
And cannot be ironed out
Ruffled, creased
I go to you, my muse
Because you rearrange the stars in my eyes
You lend your voice to my croak
I sing the word you compose
I hear again, the laughter in your eyes
Loving you all over again.

Bose

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