ode from a writer

It’s true I’m quite besotted:
I want to stroke you, sniff you even
happiest when I’m scribbling on you,
spilling coffee on occasion
but you don’t seem to mind.

I get grumpy when we’re divided –
hear you calling in the middle of the night
when I’m just too sleepy to get up
and in the morning cannot remember
exactly what it was I wanted to say to you.

You and me, in our tight huddle
may draw occasional curious glances,
I don’t care if you’re all over my table
that’s just the way I like you.
You are my addiction.

What can I say of my dilemma?
My eccentricity, my love, my vice?
My temptation, vocation, adoration?
Others don’t know what to make of it:
the writer and her manuscript.

2 thoughts on “ode from a writer

Comments welcome!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.