Sometimes you’re like a sports car.
Speed and intensity,
Until you overtake me.
Then you turn around,
And come directly toward me again.
Go speed racer. Go.
At other times you play me,
Like a well-tuned musical instrument.
Raising my flesh and resonating sensation,
All the way to my fingertips.
Hanging the penultimate note,
Just below the tonic.
Teasing and delaying its resolution,
Until the cadence comes crashing down.
And then you perform the next song.
And then, sometimes…
You’re an internal explosion.
A flash of pure white light,
That destroys me.
And I’m flying.
Flying and unaware,
Of the world.
Until you eventually pull me down.
And do it all over again.