Wordplay

Sometimes I spin the words as fast as I can
then drag them across the empty white void
watching them bump into each other and trip over the grooves
and  with sadistic laced laughter I obtain my pleasure
and a sense of self importance
apathetic to the consequences
of my brutal verses.
I have been known to bully words, it is true.
Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

But often when I am not paying attention,
as if out of the farthest corner of my eye,
beauty seems to stir from the power of the prose
I barely dare move, I just silently observe
in awe and increasing adoration
as the words gracefully dance like the notes of a song,
or a flower swaying in the breeze until they finally twist free
and float off the paper,
landing elegantly in my heart.

Until I can no longer hold myself back
so I tease the daydreams into rhyming schemes
gently stroking the tip of my pen along the delicate shapes
intertwining old memories with lurid fantasies
sensually spilling them
like seductive splashes of ink stains
until they are left lying, posed on the page
passionately moaning
her name.