Feather Touch
I am in the middle of a poem,
Typing fast, alphabets are in a quandary,
for a change, this time uniquely
different : ideas first, delectable
and a dish of marmalade ;
could be a pickled jar, sour and hot,
unless your taste bites crave for this.
title next, rummage through the
stubborn storage called Mind,
my note book fritters ,jubilant,
euphoric, ebullient quill peeps,
peacock feather, prismatic ,
a book mark , a feather touch
from my nocturnally more active MUSE,
fecundity, efficacious, pours on.
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