Oasis

Of the things that bring me comfort, writing has been strong

But elusive, as many things are

Because setting words to paper (or print) tends to feel wrong

Yet everlastingly up to par

I love a piping cup of coffee and raspberry in the morning

A tasty bold red wine as a night cap

The precipice of something worth earning

And the luxury of a handicap

My lover's tender touch

The fleeting excitement when a favorite song begins

It might seem like a little much,

But its nearly like summiting mountains

The sense of excitement when opening a book for the first time

Or seeing a new niche of this great, big world

There truly is nothing like it, no melody, rhythm, or rhyme

Just like a dancer on her toes, freshly twirled.