Your words whisper in my ear. Your voice does things to me That haven’t been felt in years.
My heart races My insides quicken I want to hear more
I listen when I’m alone To be safe from disturbance. I listen while at work In hopes that no one notices The reaction your whisper creates. I listen before I sleep at night; You’re the last thing I want to hear.
Blow by blow, your words hit deep. The aching and longing are no strangers to me But nothing else does it justice, Not like they deserve. Nothing can explain Or perfectly portray These feelings the same way.
Slowly she enters the room
and approaches the bed.
She’s not feeling too keen on much else
than having poetry read.
She opens the book,
scans the room,
and gives you the look
Your breathless monologues
are what she needs.
She’s not looking for more,
only for your words.
Your voice begins to trigger sensations down below
as she closes her eyes,
Your words soothe the tension
as each word is given careful attention,
knowing how each one caresses her mind,
seizing on the opportunity
to the revealing of her true beauty;
this is your one chance for unity.
She is captured by your guise.
You firmly believe the efforts are worthwhile.
The feeling is mutual
and catching you both by surprise.
she’s reached her peak.
There are no more words left to speak.
The mind is tired and the body is weak.
You lean in and say, ‘I guess I’ll be seeing you next week.’