deepundergroundpoetry.com

here is a day

day in this life
i wonder if like every day
to glance, a look
a pawn hoping to advance to a rook.
when you wake
do you stretch
or do you roll.
on your stomach, your back as you unfold.
the morning's light has just broken through
what is the first thing you do?
do your nipples run across your tee,
is that too rude?
or are you naked in the nude.
should i stop there...
maybe conclude.
but you know my imagination can get quite lewd.
tell me of your thought...
in the day's prelude...

and so...
here is a day
clouds and rain.
to heed or refrain
to wipe clean the plane.
tick tock goes the proverbial clock.
knock knock...
do you go there
would you again appear?
if the door were to open
would you in your boots
would you have anything to fear?
cast from your shoulder your shroud
have it drop, be not proud.
the wind whips in...
tell me...
from here,
how does one begin.

the wind whispers its course
lightly but with force
the sheet is pulled in
the sail has mustered a close haul.
i ramble knowing nothing but this, if at all...
oh to hike out in less fright
than to have you see me in your sight.
to weather a storm i would with less alarm
knowing your love and its tangling harm.
the short lines , quick pen strokes
seemingly witty little jokes
witnessed by nosy minded folks.
a summer storm fills the air
news cast have to again compare
will all pull through, how will they fair.
the price,
what is today's ferry's fare?
the cost, that of golden spun hair.

so now i gaze
i look,
in search of words that i might grace.
a stirring...a longing for the filling
maybe to take my finger and softly trace...
the lines, the smile that defines your face
Pavlov would be proud...
knowing now... passion is not learned.
how does one linger on each and every word,
can one even know what is real...that has been heard.
as before...i read every word
moved and constantly i find...
your poems so i long that to me are understood.
line by line...as i would my finger on your face, to again trace.
taking my mind to our place.
can words mold..form?
etch that special bond.
i hear whispers...the sweetness in voice,
i have heard... as your video's poetically spoke
as a siren...i hear your call...drifting inevitable upon the rocks...
yet the sweetness drives.
ode to the power....of your eyes.
Written by mysticstones
Published
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