There’s a moment, an unquantifiable measure of sound,
of time, of intention and of desire
Where a heart-skip descends into a heart-break
Or a heart-break lifts to a heart-skip; like fire.
Take that ghostly uncertainty by the hand and be found,
in that moment, that heart-beat, that breath
Where first-love descends into love-lost
Or love-lost gives live to new-love; what’s next?
To take chance by the horns, leap into that heart-beat-skip-break
And know that this chance on your secret love, was your chance to take.
Stifled and stilted like your words as you untangle
to make sense of the metaphors by which your muse is strangled.