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Image for the poem Poet, Exposed

Poet, Exposed

 

Hooded nib exposed

he takes it in hand

under cloak of darkness

Calloused, work-weary fingers

curl intimately

around its smooth girth

He begins the ancient rythym

Slow, hesitant strokes

coaxing, teasing

gently kneading

pleading for sweet release

Strokes grow bolder

gun-fire quick

furious, angry strokes

to wring forth

each spilling seed


Retreat, pace slows

as the last drips out

dreamily

drop by sweet drop

Black pearls

upon the page

Reading his words now

I can't help but wonder

is it me he thinks of

when he writes?

 

 

 
Written by Lola
Published | Edited 1st May 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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