I am tangled in the touch
of his written words
that tear me into beautiful
deep dripping puddles
of passion that leak
through my roof
and soak my bed
in his scent
and it lingers
on my fingers
that sign his name
in silence
and it means
next to nothing
to him.
2 comments:
I liked that. I've been missing your poetic side. Glad to see it back in full flow.
Thanks AC. My poetry seems to be very cyclical. I'll write a hundred poems in a month... and then nothing for six. But I'm glad it's back again... for the time being. :-)
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