Crossed-legged, was a poise that I could once adopt;
Now, its more a straddle....
Hunched in my chair, I fiddle with keys, playing a tune
in my mind with words....
Exterior scenes, I can now ignore, as I roam in the realms
of fantasy and fiction.......
As I place the words to the music in my mind, I become aware of a transition......
The fingers, work by themselves, forming the sentences;
Binding together words, into some semblance of sense..
Do I realise what I write till it is written?
Am I aware that it makes sense to others?
Will I continue with this ?
Have I a choice?
No..........the muse has her way...........
Adding your comment:
, glad you know this feeling of being observed 
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