The block

The mind waits as my heart blurs
A strange sort of writer’s block,
a different time and turn
Up, over the brim and cascading
yet there ain’t a word to sing.
An almost impalpable calm,
the same as that before a storm.
Draw me nigh and lay me low,
neither word nor will are my own.
As does a state of trance
my mind, you adorn.
Every nook, crevice, floating thought
You claim and readily embellish.
Logically illogical processes
This block likens a caress.