A compelling voice whispers,

gently as i roll over to my side,

brush strokes across my shoulder,

rough,

yet chalky like a freshly primed canvas,

whispers appear,

yet no sign of it’s soul,

a brush stroke across the spine of my back as the bristles tickle me,

a paint brush appears,

a quick thought as i quickly arise from my day dream,

in my studio creating with intuition,

pure bliss,

therapy forms,

breath in-breath out,

smells of berries and bliss,

a gentle reminder that i am still alive