• On virgin plains of white paper
    The pen writes, curving around my thumb.
    A flicker of my hand
    Silently turning into the simple
    Lifting and falling of ink.
    A sweet smelling mirage
    Of perfection, wallpapers my senses,
    An incredible and arousing desire
    Feeds my heart’s imagination.
    Inside my sacred walls
    Of my mind, my gothic cathedral,
    I find refuge from the squalor
    As I search for the perfect words
    To put on my white paper.