deepundergroundpoetry.com

Sounds

An incandescent drip of flavor �
falls from the tip of my lip �

�words gathered and built � �
as my thoughts delicately fulfilled �
the symphonies played throughout my mind �
�
Entranced, my spirit soars � �
seeking its solace � �
in an empty space �
where the lines of your soul are traced �
�
I am not a writer but a slayer of sounds �
echoing each emotion � �
foraged in the fortitude of light �
�
My fingertips are their caretakers �
they caress the pulse of your bosom �
encircling each bit of tenderness �
rising alongside my words � �
�
I put you on display � �
with every drop of ink �
oozing out the fibers of my grain �
�
My craft is a heartbeat �
You are my sea