He used to read to me

my
being
was taken by
every silky note that came
from within
him

his
creative essence
produced picture thoughts
that I journeyed on of his memories
hopes and dreams and wonderful imaginary things
it was extraordinary the way his words
spellbound me

I
cried
when his words cried
laughed when they laughed and
learned when they
taught

   He used to read to me

with
wisdom
and witty phrases
he kept me all caught up
induced an addictive tendency in me
that made my mind salivate at the thought
of his words spoken
to me  

  intensified…

my
interest
used to widen
to feast on his compositions
like
a
fiend
every sound
outside of his voice
was nonexistent
when
he used to read to me
often…

I
slipped
between his lines
and realized he relished our
intimate word moments
just as much
as
I

He used to read to me


someday…

I
hope
he
will
again