writer's block

These gaps in my hands provide space for a telling
a jerk and release
a splash on the screen
sometimes we can't help but do the things
our bodies set out for us to do
i'm a servant, a slave to my own beginnings

in the midst of all this,
things begin to make sense
like a cramp in my side
or a twirk in my wrist
that maybe these things i hide from
are as clear as the view from the height that i reach
at that peak before sleep
that some things are meant to resonate a lot longer
than the twenty seconds in which i allow myself to feel
albeit sterile in print,
it still provides a happy ending