sit and listen.

 
i.  
the colors are dark now
a sweet flickering  
from soft lighted windowsill candles  
glow, off in the distance;  
catching my eye just right  
it's then-
those dancing twists of light  
are heartache perfect  
 
ii.  
fingers
absent in mind
tendril twirl
in repeated twirls;  
my custom-made afterthought  
blinded,  
to an automatic action  
of such a soothe,  
that instigates to create  
 
iii.  
a hushed index finger
[pon nosetip]  
sit and listen
as breezes blow
of purest creation  
an absolute  
to write my known heart  
in raw and in all it's bold  
or maybe a waiting,  
a sort of inspired gold  
always, it's there.  
this poetic needing  
compounded I think,  
by tonight's silken wafting  
O'er these billowy breezes
is nature's ethereal speech  
 
so, my pen begins,  
just in time to seize it .