Energy on the Edge
Poetry becomes concrete when written
My mouth longs for what wasn’t said or done
I sit searching for the moments I can laugh again
Instead I look at fashion flaws
Frayed jeans accented by expensive shoes
I don't dissect you
I didn’t touch your hair. Could I?
Would I? Still styling is in my bones
What tease will be released?
I surrender to my poetry
Frozen in time I know it’s somewhere
The electricity of who I am, freed
Words and Feelings no longer constrained
A gentle kiss will return.
Will I flow to be made solid
Or melt lost in the dictionary of today
Wherever our words land they will be
