A Prosaic Mind

You,
most honestly in my mind.

You,
most clear.

I've longed for this moment--this mo
ment of honest, clear clarity.

Saira. You are my greatest creation; the antithesis of Deeya. The medium dark
ness to her light. How quickly your roles will be reversed, my darlings.

This is no poem; this is my prosaic ode to you both
broken down into pieces, identifiable
chunks.

One day, maybe even one day
soon, I'll write a poem that tells the story of you; of
the act of creating
you.

To write again; to be writing again
and to formulate you.

And always in the back of my mind, I see an empty, dimly lit room, and me
hunched over a desk,
hands typing furiously on keyboard              matte finish
smells like      metal and
fingers' oil, the
natural lubricant
for the creative mind--

hello                  "my freaking darlings",
i'm home