What would I write for you,
As the words impatiently throb in my fingertips,
yearning to unleash onto your vision and permeate your
Could they flow as I exhale,
dance across the page,
or linger on my lips—
no more than a whisper in the private hours of the night?
Would my limbs express what lyrics
my blood demands—
could any music assuage the racing
Yet, my core threatens to burst
through the membrane of my shield
as you stand before me,
While my frame freezes,
the notes that were my gifted words
beneath my consciousness roll by—
some waltzing to the dance of tomorrow,
as others creep to the dirge of yesterday.
Your fingertips disturb the entrancement
holding my present captive.
With a twinkle in your eye, a curve in your lip,
my fingers meet yours to do what my words failed to.
The rumbling beat thrums between our chests,
urging me on to unleash the letters
forming the sweetest request.
Can you feel it, the percussion,
the temptation to move through rhythmic time
shall we discover tomorrow’s melody
shall we do what I could not on my own,
at least not without my muse—
Shall we dance?
- ▼ 2010 (21)
- ► 2009 (64)