There is no alone with poetry

Dead poets line four walls

Fixed eyes, thin skin choking on dust

Indignant, gracious

Quit looking for me here, they say

The best part of living is what you learn alone in the dark when the rest of the world sleeps

All the losing and winning

Brimming and seeping

from pottery shards unearthed in our lost worlds

No man can taste your power like my ancient tongue

The absence of Love is more passionate than the having

Drape my soul over your hip bones

Trail a finger from your hairline to the tip of your nose

Court us both with that storm punishing your window

Lust like a starving god after the you that has no body

Call out your own name

Whimper:  Open your eyes beautiful

Grin at the blond strand of hair you lift from my spine in the morning

But just know that was only the beginning…

One thought on “There is no alone with poetry”

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