The return stroke . . . the echoing memory of the last exploring touch still lives inside me . . as I drift apart, vibrating . . .  lost in the outer space. Are you also a tuning fork? Join me . ..  but beware, if you cannot control your inner rhythm.

Poetry lives inside me I need to express myself but instead I am gathering words from others and carefully place them in the sack of winds . . . soon soon sooOn enough I might hmm I will set my soul free, but how?

A Fibonacci challenge or perhaps a haiku the inspiring spring awakening outside my window, something! The forest doesn’t wait for me and the birds keep chirping even though I don’t visit them and the rest of humanity moves on a humblebee just flew inside is that a sign? Anyway the humblebee can find her way out . .  Wh@@@t? Ok! Stop bumping you head against the window I will open the door! Oh boy as soon as I leave a window open!!!

Aaah, finally, well, I am still in search of my poetic voice and what needed to be expressed is expressed I can continue enjoying the silence within me.*closes the window*