The luxury of you, my dear
Teasing my mouth, tickling my ear
With pictures waiting to be penned
Has turned you into quite a friend
The way you almost kiss my lips
And kindle flames in fingertips
Restless to snare the air you stir
Has turned you into quite a Sir
I cannot clutch the skin of thrill
Or touch your faerie blueness, still
Your whitewashed, star-splashed wherewithal
Has turned you into quite a pal
You never leave, yet never stay
But wander through this wish-worn clay
Footloose, your phantom whispering
Has turned you into quite a king
You lord your longing in my sigh
I drink the wink of common sky
I think your tug-of-ink-and-heart
Has turned you into quite an art
You please me with the want of you
And taunt me with frost-font and dew
The way you weave yourself through me
Has turned you into poetry
© Janet Martin
Very well said. Your heart sings its truth.
ReplyDeleteThis is the kind of poem I have to go back and think about, line by line. It isn't meant to be read in a rush. There is some beautiful imagery here.
ReplyDeletethank-you for 'feeling' it! This poem was not written in a rush:)
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