Recently, she suggested that wasn’t an option,
She would not return his words,
Not a fearful proclamation really, more a safeguard
For matching words with someone
She did truly give the gift of confidence.
He remained quiet in his own world,
Aware of the beauty she had so kindly shared with him,
His psyche graced with pleasure,
He would always find her eyes again,
In there, in her sea of enchantment, he finds his words.
I wonder if she really does know,
He chuckles, in a dignified manner, there isn’t a tone
Of malice in his mind when he imagines her
Beyond skin, touch, soft, pleasure, release my mind.
So the poet suggest we find peace in the magic of morning,
The essence of nightfall with starlit reminder
Our world is together borne
By inspiration, in the truth of love,
And the poet, well certainly a fortunate spectator.
While we danced across the tiles one night,
Our fantasy in shrouds of mystique,
The eyes became lost in the brilliance
Of an energy so often yearned for yet tonight,
In the hands of the lightning rod’s conductor.
She did, he knew, have words, would she, the Poet.