There are moments
when even poets
need no words
when syllables silence,
his fingers slide
across the palm
and criss-cross into mine
like a sanctuary for hearts;
the flow of feelings,
hum in symmetry
playing us softly,
like strings of a harp;
like poetry
off the tongue.
Month: August 2018
Love Letter #76: Creation
As flowers tickle tiny bare feet,
petals fall from fingers
he loves me,
he loves me not;
life spun into a silk dress
hands hold a bouquet
reflecting the light
from my eyes
to his
loving
days and nights after
my giggle, his smile,
under a sky full of stars
all formed
from just the sound
of your voice.
forget-me-not 