my turn

a poem of mine. i guess you could call it a poem. i wouldn't mind some critiquing. fire at will.



~*~love-worn~*~



involuntarily,
she nests.
her influence seeps and distends,
invigorating -

a deeper tissue massage,
thoughts - like fingers -
work core muscles -
under pressure, yet lightened

by sweetness of deed and timbre,
embrace and smile's warmth,

and by passion, given earnest
though unreservedly.

Irrational Exuberance weds Sedation:

Raging rivers, red and abstract,
Engorge their beds;

My soul sails on the breeze
Borne of her tranquil air.

Though grey paints the face blue,
Smile a pretty smile,
Smile a pretty tear:

Seams undone –

Love wears well