i feel you under my skin
running through my veins
competing with my blood
to see which's going
to reach my heart
faster

I'm not sure
Why your walls
Are molded
Out of ice

I hope
you're warm
On the inside

Please
Please,
Don't be
Numb.

l.v.s

Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation

if feeling could write,

if emotions could paint,

we'd all be drowning

in acrylic and ink

sing me an aubade
at beginning of aurora
serene and mellifluous
it's like a reverie, a felicity

you soliloquize, so calm
that it could be psithurism
I hear
the beating of your heart,
like the sound of a watch
enwrapped in cotton

a summer's zephyr opens the balcony windows,
so gently
dust particles are dancing
in the morning light
and are slowly falling on the white bedding sheets
do you smell the scent
of our neighbor's citrus trees?
2 hours by car is Venice
and I invite you to stay
in the enchanted and narrow alleys
with me

I never understood what
‘writers block’ was, until now:

The complete derailing
of your train of thought

I don't think you really like poetry.

Actually,
I don't think you'd like my poetry,

Because even though you wouldn't be able to tell,

My poetry is almost all about you.