Reading Between the Lines...

Poetry; the most intimate road between writer and reader.  James Scoles

When we make love out of habit, not heart

We pander with plebeian phrases, fine art

Finger-tip routine and word void of need

Scorns silver-linings with second-rate greed

There is no poetry in worn cliches

Cold, like an ember bereft of its blaze

Darling, how busy our bodies become

Deaf to the music that musters the poem

Surely the laugh-lines of yesterday’s bliss

Longs to replenish our mouths with its kiss

Touch; be the climax of hard-fought foreplay

Second-mile murmurs through guerdons of clay

Beauty is not in the shaping of skin

But bleeds from rudiments somewhat akin

To scarlet-stained front-lines where we over-threw

Common-clad odds to protect what we knew

Darling, let’s undo the air with our eyes

…covet the apex of want for its Prize

For when we make love out of habit, not heart

We desecrate its most venerable part

© Janet Martin