The Enigma: A Poem

Sweet spot,
The enigma
Of flow,
Not a regular.

Second mug
Sweet cream
To caramel.

Clacking away
Priorities then passion,
Fingers are
The keys.

It comes
Rushing, quiet,
Summer storm,

Lost in the
Appearing words
Birthed from
His irises.

As quickly as
He comes, he goes
Into the known

Dry cup,
Napkin laid,
My fingers crave
Another word. 

- Hannah