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What Is It?
Folder:
Old It's fragrance therapy
for I can smell her.
soft scent whiff
spread across the air
wakes me up
from comas.
intertwined with heart aroma.
light red incense
burns from within.
sends strawberry smoke up -
clouds my pupils
leaves me choked up.
And it's music.
I'm not but her ivory tickler
expertly fingering highest keys
irregularly
notes that escape in choppy ways
just like her breathless screams.
down... down...
down to a rumbling chord.
left hand presses down with resolve
to find the keys she roars.
while two right fingers
swiftly fiddle with
all the sharps that linger.
It's autumn's splendor -
breeze collected
from her breath.
and passing through my hair
this fine september.
leaf abcission -
how she sheds her loving thoughts
upon my grass.
dresses me with color
at longest last.
streams
that give life
to fall harvest -
she flows
in gushing truth -
providing savory drops
for this arid tooth.
brings my words to such fruition.
And it's poetry in motion, really -
how she takes my lines
so silly...
yet applies a gleam
to show me what this paper means.
crafts a stanza
from a broken stutter
leaving me to utter
how I wrote these words...
