Center around the synapse,
Of your titillating tile nerd,
And defoliate your intentions,
Of your galloping gertie herd.

You know, I know the answer,
Before you broke a word,
Your spittle on the pencil,
Provoked a tightened gerd.

To dare not procrastinate,
Arriving way to swoon,
Like a dove without wings,
That brought down the room.

Metaphorically meandering,
Calming your hair in place,
Wringing poetry from universe,
Surviving the human race.

Words come easy,
Words come slow.
Words disappear without a trace,
This word must now go.