There’s a combination of words, somewhere in here,
if I get ’em right, they’ll light up there;

maybe come in at an odd angle,
find the flow, outskirts in,

a beeline
to the heart of it,

maybe bounce on that, for a while from the inside-out.

Where are you, words who make it plain?
Come out, come out!

Low ceilings, flat echoes,
big halls, round sounds swell,
sway like water balloons on branches
the girth of your wrists.

I kiss the backs of your hands,
small sweeps of warm lips
on that spot where you’d balance the world.

Lean in and listen, I just got to say,
somethings gotta give, I just feel it,
you know what I mean?

I don’t splash in all the puddles,
I try to leave the best for the rest to enjoy.

I’m a time traveler,
I’m a space invader,
I’m a mocha chocolate chippy for you.

Word combos, ballroom letter mambos,
OYE PEOPLE CONGA LINE!

from here to
(touch the middle of your forehead)

© Carlos Chagall, 2013