The time stood there
like a squirrel pausing before
grabbing the tastey dried out bread morsel
not moving,
while the vision unfurled
of full on yeah baby
dream
to live the dream
mega starlit sky expanse
upon sand crystal glass
took hold,
a gripping black leather
tight glove on her petite hand
and she saw what she wanted
in a fireworks display of color
and scale
and felt what she felt
in a sugary molasses creamy
tummy melter epicure
and so it rose.
RAW Poems 
I like the sounds of the words and the way they fit together “in a sugary molasses creamy … tummy melter epicure” wonderful sounds, musical. All kinds of images emerge, and I feel teased somewhat by the images a young woman realizing, almost suddenly, the power of her identity. I guess in some ways the power of poetry is in the images that each reader brings to the poem, giving it a life that evolves, even separate from the poet whose emotions gave it birth.