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She cupped my cheek
with the warm fingers of
her right hand
as her palm rested
on the jaw of my desire.

My body warmed slow
down to the toes
wanting to step into
the mansion of her passion.

I love you,
the words dropped
from her lips
like silver beads of
rain on the pasture
of my heart.
249

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!
He’s no musician.
He doesn't make melodies through violin and guitar strings.
Yet he composed, haunting ballads in dramatic tempos,
Rhyming every lyric,
Harmonizing, making it dance in a musical euphony.

He’s no seamster.
Yet he cuts and he traces,
plain words and printed phrases;
Then he sews and he weaves it skilfully,
into a lovely concrete poetry.

He’s no painter.
He just has a palette of pigmented letters,
splashing colorful lines on his blank canvass.
A blast of contained evocative memories,
Streaking and shading mixtures of kaleidoscopic imagery.

He’s no storyteller.
Yet from him, I heard the most romantic tales-
One, of the moon and its lover sea.
Reciprocating shy glances, whispering I love you’s,
while kissing behind the sprawling mountains.
Though the dawn will come, they do not fear.
For after the majestic tribal sun leaves his stage,
There’ll the lovers be once again reunited.

He's no poet.**
Yet he writes--
stanzas and verses.
And oh! it revives,
every strand of emotion,
every sense of intuition,
Inside me.
A lyrical perception,
Sheer perfection,
Arousing perpetual reactions,
From me.
I am not good at this. I just want to express my pure gratitude, appreciation and awe for you.

"I am no poet. Never thought of myself as one. Just a guy dabbling clumsily in words"
Yet even, everything you do amaze me.


Thank you all wonderful people on Hello Poetry. I just realized this moment that this poem was featured as Daily poem yesterday.  I have never imagined any of my work will be posted as daily. Thank you all for the hearts, re-post,share, comments and messages. You really made my heart and soul so happy. :)
And most of all, thanks to the man who inspire me to write this one. :)
(04.14.2015)
His warmth I love
Though never touched
Cause suns still burn
From far away

He'd hear my thoughts
Though never speaks
But silence talks
In many ways

Oh how I'd love
To have him near
To talk even
For just a day

But I know well
As dreams reveal
When I come to
That he's not real
 Apr 2015 Erin Schwartz
Poetic T
It drank upon humanity like a fine
Wine, pungent in
Hatred,
Loathing,
Malice
Upon another, it drank with a
Steady flow. Intoxicated on the
Evils of
Man,
Woman,
Child
Was the final key, for the seed was
Pure, but know even that was corrupted,
It was a sweet moment in eternity. As it
Drank like never before,
Souls where consumed upon like never before.
Souls were indulged,
As the screams echoed, conscience was
Shredded and turned black. Now empty
Thrown like so many before
Void,
Barren,
Unoccupied
Shell, but humanity was plentiful and darkness
Would be intoxicated on the fullness of
What they had become. We are what we have
made ourselves. Food is for thought, and now
Intoxicated darkness drinks till we are but a shell.
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