the rustic, the raw untouched, true what greatness this beauty that humbles for though I've planted a thousand footsteps none have made an imprint on your holy ground whereas I my sensibilities forever changed my sensualities ever deepened for where I looked, you plumed your feathers where I touched, you softened where I listened, you whispered and where I tasted your essence ruptured in a thousand flavors I have kept this tryt and like a stealthy lover I now adore you though I am not one of yours and you will never be mine
because you come and you go one minute you're real and in another, you reel round in circles, round in circles I follow, I lead and in the embers of our passion I wonder when and where the circle completes and sends you off again...
let the sun shine upon you now there, where the darkness of night will not reach you where the futility of rest is unencumbered by the inherent sense of life thereafter
where the dreams you dream are not wishes but prayers of those who wish still and the prayers you pray are not those of longing but thankful songs of those still hoping
rest, dear friend, your head lies empty and let it summon your soul to its empty bliss transcend this world and all its cares sleep in rapture of eternal slumber
I read your words and they shake the ground beneath me awestruck, mesmerized, ravaged by your rustic soliloquy the thought, the sense, the poignancy mirrors my own I'd stop a while and catch my breath, or I am blown
how could you know the words I long to read like knowing how the acorn would grow from the seed how could you let your pen traverse every line like a hand that knows my body, every mound to climb
I drink of your phrases like I would a passion fruit intoxication rising as every verse takes root curse to the damned at the turn of the final page I am riled that you rushed me to a halt, my lyrical sage
thereto and hereto, in circles but nowhere to lost and in search for words sprung from you dance with me again, romance me in my bed shall I be loved and caressed shall I lie wating and haunted
out of paper, plain and dull you folded and scraped you molded and shaped and fashioned me a crisp-lined hull two-breadth strong laid to sit for long on some basin-held water lifeless, as an empty platter
a rudderless ship, a boat with no oar still as a reef on my tideless shore docked on my plastic-bordered ocean anchored in wait for your graceful hand's motion to stir tentative ripples on my saltless sea and here, I dwell on my epiphany
will I be, a rugged water toy afforded with some transient joys will I come to know the meaning of my existence or chance upon a quintissential exuberance or am I, in this folded and molded grace no diff'rent from my unadorned state still a paper, plain and dull bemoaning my tapered, four-cornered pall
then one day you decided to play and down to my sea you dipped in your hand oh what joy to be kept at buoy I sailed and I danced on my sea with no sand yet as I basked in your candid pleasure you lifted your hand and lay in dreamy languor the rivulets of current you granted me vanished and silenced my once turbulent sea and as I dodged 'gainst my plastic reef I knew for a moment... for a moment, I lived
for words
are all I have...
no big bucks,
no mansions,
no pillars of gold
come the day when I'm too tired and too old
I'd like you to say of me, "she wrote".
