I lie here waiting for the stroke of your pen,
the brass tip dipped in blackest ink
dripping thickly into the well
like sweet southern molasses
over a tray of pralines
coating each nutty mound,
a delicious bacchanal confectionary
to savor bit by bit,
swallowed slowly and washed down
with the kiss of a mint julep.
From the sheets where I lay,
take your place above me and press
your intentions against the fibers
of my being, put your words
in calligraphy upon my lines,
swirling ephiphanies released
one letter at a time,
combined into expressions
at times baffling the mind.
Continue, oh instrument of
the word smythe,
continue on your journey
from border to border,
ever closer,
within an inch of
breaking the boundary,
inking your impressions
permanently, passionately,
gliding to and fro
until at last there is
nothing more than to
dot the i.
And then with the fire of
the white candle that lights
your master's way,
bring the heat as
as an offering,
singe my edges,
oh hand that wields
the mighty pen,
and burn me . . .
burn me.
pressing,the soft
movement while your
nib glides along
this fleece, drawing
up the and down the
upon this leaf.
The pulling up and
taunting the edge
of dusks end, to the
excited rim of dawn
searching the dew.
Saying it's
thank....ing you.
Thanks for the
read.
Great Emotions Expressed Poetess!
Embraced ~ Embrassé
Vickie
Richard
hugs
Fee