Lost Words

    The words come, effortlessly and yet evanescently, leaving as soon as they come to me, fading like a dream that I've just woken from. If they are not spoken, or written, then they are gone and forever lost, never to be heard or thought again. Treacherously brilliant, like blood that flows from a wound, beautiful yet burning; seductively soft, like kisses hidden from view except by the soft streams of moonlight; and either fleetingly caring like the oldest stars, who look forward to their brilliant death, or everlastingly loving as the young stars think themselves to be.