First terror -- the ecstasy of the sweaty palm,
The jittered voice, the caffeine rush of the
Epileptic knee. Paralysis. Insanity of a kind.
Then ambrosia, intoxication --
Drink deep the nectar of her perfume.
Soon, swoon. Kiss her,
Then fail your breathalyzer.
Write fast, if you can.
The world tilts but the pen sits still.
Don't drink the ink.
Oh, Edward, were you ever right!
For in me, indeed,
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact."