Your Grip Slips

Something to be pursued. To cling to like a broncho. Thigh muscles clenched, back low, core steady. Hands blistering, fingers cramping. Perspiration on cracked leather, your grip slips. Your balance waivers, body contorts trying to regain what was lost. The ground comes upon you hard, it knocks everything out . The promise of next time burns everywhere. 

Stimulation. The promise of creation. Neurons firing, blazing a hot path through your brain. In communication with every hair, every fibre. Light me up from the inside, let me be an enlightened version of myself. Child-like, awe-struck, giddy and without limitation. Free from the trappings of the world at large.