my patience with words so
feeble, so little while my fingers long;
to tap those elusive strings of your.
furtive stirrings of my.
heart
feet; your
fingers
tracing permanent memories on my.
skin so perfect under the
caress of your.
thought.
I speak of things i feel, so primordial, that structured expression kills the essence. I speak of things i see. so easy to ignore, yet, so crucial I find release in the seeming disorder of my Poetry; the subtle signs i see.