Notes On A Train

I can smell the ecstasy of creativity.

It is earthy, musky and yet, somehow sweet.

As I breathe it in, it coats my tongue and makes it moist.

Comfortable is almost as painful as chilled.

Squeezed by the weepy eyed grip of stability.

I can hear you....somewhere out there.

Dancing in the unseen world.

I don't know how to find you.

But, you seem closer when I close my eyes and when I let my thoughts float away.

Maybe you'll glow brighter when the lights outside have dimmed.

Our lips are bound to touch the same few frames of sky.