Wordless Poem

The student turns to teacher of the soft seductive arts
for in your arms I'm merely clay to build the fire heart.

Your features rest on moonlight just so gliding in midair;
far bolder are your talents when your soul is laid so bare.

It's conversation that you ploy that opens me for free;
the substance of the dance we do undoes the rest of me.

I'm powerless to thus resist the knowing spirit's charge;
our love is more afloat and real than any fairy's barge.

At last not least the easy idols of your rhetoric and joy
are all that needs to be engaged to turn this man to boy.

In art or dance or music or in simple mindful game
the words that touch the deepest part need never have a name.

runningturtle87