I was too empty for words,

nothingness gnawing

at my insides, where

rhythm and rhyme

used to picket and pulse.

And maybe there’s richness

in the silent calm of nothings.

Empty flower beds waiting,

for the next buds of spring.

Yet spring has now sprung 

From whence will the words come 

With which I seduce?

When will I see her bloom 

Through the craft of my care?

The words, well up within

When I see her 

Truly see her 

Not just a cursory glance

Across a room filled with 

Platitudes and misgivings.

For there she is,

She who must be touched 

Brought to life 

Nourished and fertilised 

Free to flourish 

In her way 

In her time