If I were ever to leave
a book of poetry
planted – hidden
in some wood
I would not inscribe
it or dedicate it to you.
Each poem may touch
you, be special just -
for you - written only
for you- held only in
your hand - in your
mind.
Inspired only by your
beauty, your sultry
delicious mischievous
smile -
my paramour.
Read secretly yet - aloud
your voice re-capturing
every phrase –word
an oral embrace
remembering – remembering
our acts of love.
Place it back in its
place for other days
other breathless trysts
where fast heart beats
lead to elevated passion
stolen moments to
savour.
I will not inscribe it nor
dedicate it to you my
love-
For your in every line
every heartbeat
every movement
every thought-
my poetry is
you.
1 comment:
oh thanks, that poem sounded like it would have been made for me ! very good job.
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