“Poetry is she and she is me. So since I be me, I now present you with…poetry”
Killing me softly with her words
But she dare not be locked away
Because with each word I feel her passion, with each breath she takes to annunciate each syllable, a chill runs down my back; fingers that seem to exist only figuratively in my mind run down my spine; all over my body, touching me in places I never knew existed.
And although he has my heart, poetry is my mistress; the hottest thing since the sun came into existence
We sneak off and proceed to have our way with each other
I tell poetry all of my secrets: my hopes, my dreams my fears,
And poetry listens; allows me to express myself, never judging me. Poetry uses words to console me
Those words become whole and in her arms poetry chooses to hold me…
Poetry may potentially be my soul mate
And we so choose to continue with this love affair. Dancing around the idea of expanding our intamicy
Because in the back of my mind I know that she is more than just my mistress
Because into her I pour my everything. My heat, my soul….
This is poetry.