She doesn’t speak in words,
this inner voice of mine.
She takes the long way ’round,
the scenic route.
She leads me through forests dressed in moonlight,
and past fields of dark-eyed flowers.
She comes from a land of feathered trees
and heart-shaped butterflies.
I speak to her in the simplest sentences,
She answers in riddled landscapes.
I don’t know what we mean,
but I bet she does.
See other impressions on Inner Voice.