Fate delivered my muse in an accidental plane
and although it failed to apologize for taking too long
how can you not forgive a beautiful song
however unusual its package may be
and instantly
I knew that he is the most beautiful sound I'll ever hear
So I chained him to my ear, without him knowing
and his poetry reminded me that I have no use for TV
cause I've no time to spare
from reading
and writing
and thinking of him
in-between the intervals
of each word I encounter
and in secret,
the small flame of my matchstick
silently morphs into a roaring forest fire
fed by the past, bursting with things I've left unsaid,
fed by his cynical words in my head
and without a word,
he makes me want to write
so I write.
and when I get stuck, the image of his voice
guides me through every stumbling pause
and safely
I arrive each and every time
pulled by the illusion of his presence-
comma after comma,
cadence after cadence.
