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.’
bore from the most arduous labor, its intoxicating fruit, its sweet blossoming fragrance, pulls in the strongest of hearts. as a vine snakes its way through the depths of a luscious secret garden, distinct impressions produce the richest aromas. even to an untrained eye, the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed.
the sweetest honey couldn’t go unnoticed; even to an untrained eye, the richest aromas produce distinct impressions. a luscious secret garden snakes its way through the depths as a vine pulls in the strongest of hearts. its sweet blossoming fragrance, its intoxicating fruit bore from the most arduous labor.
Late at night Lying in bed Headphones on Listening to music Or a few recorded poems Reading the latest I attempt to craft a new one Or brush up a draft not quite finished
It’s becoming routine I’ve always been An undercover poet Now I’m sharing my words With my family’s support as an added bonus
Shared are the happenings, The disappointments, The contests never won, Submissions rejected And poetry readings I’ve done But only a select few are read Only those that are safe Too many things need to be left unsaid
Safe are the clouds Blowing with the whispering wind Safe are the waves Leaping over me as I rescind All my powers to Mother Nature She’s the one we must bow to Who we give our ultimate thanks to
Those poems of desire and longing Full of sorrow Never to be filled By our wants in all of our tomorrows No, those things aren’t safe There’s too many things that need to be left unsaid