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http://headroominations.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-poetess.html
I read her words
of adoration,
and in gazing
upon their beauty
I sometimes wish
the inverted image
cast in her eye…was I.
That she viewed me
as That Guy.
That mine
was the swagger
that has her
so reflective
she has no way
to express it
but for
the poetic method.
To be perused
as her muse
would be my honor –
make my spirit gleam
like polished armor.
Her verses almost
make me want her.
With each read
I doubt my doubts
until I pull
myself back out
of her imagery.
Such pleasure
her words have given me
that I treasure
her words of intimacy
like precious gems.
I rest my eyes
and work my brain
fantasize
working her frame,
sampling her nature
as it flows
like her prose
onto blank paper.
Soaking clothes
pulled aside
so I can take
Her
action verbs
and adjectives
immerse me where
her magic lives –
where her word game
ravishes
like some lovelorn
savages –
teenagers
sometime after
lost virginity.
Or like a priest
who left his ministry
to pursue
carnal desires.
With just her words
she sparks these fires
for she is
a master
of her craft,
and through it she
bewitches me.
-HymnAgen
