I beat like a metronome.  Staccato, mezzo, legato.  
My movements ring out my intention.   
Consistent in my measure, consistent to a fault.   
Consistent in the beat of my being.  
I count the pace of my soul.   
The maestro’s muse,  the artist’s afflatus,  the writers wordsmith,  the ship captain’s constellations.  
I am ever present in my pulse.   
Mechanical in my precision, but  wholly organic and supple.  I am made of flesh, bone and blood. 
I am expeditious and raw, I am deliberate and steady, 
I am languid and adoring.   
Paced.  
Patterned.  
Synchronistic.  
Consistent. 
Ever.   
Metronome soul for you to measure.   

~ Lea Lea