~~~
I do not have a poem

at the ready,
at my fingertips,
ready, willing and able,
instant provision,

yet, in the fingertips, yes,
is red ink, warming,
waiting for the
sounding,
your tap tap tapping calling
of once-more


I do not have a poem


sited upon my lips,
in sweet patient stasis
awaiting
your requesting kiss,

yet,  deep hid within my throat,
are universes of words,
ready for assembly,
immediate delivery,
needy for the signaling of
your endearing
provocations


I do not have a poem


stored in the heart's ventricles,
in cavitation, ready to bubble upwards,
ready to travel the veins,
provide art to the arteries,
encamping in the capillaries,

yet, come stoke my steel furnace,
melt molten its contents for the removal of
the irregularities of,
enduring love,
leave the glowing rawness of
glory passionate and gift abiding,
songs of felicitous contentment


I do not have a poem


upon my person,
easy to come,
easy released,
signaling its lanterned
mode of arrival,
one if by voice,
two if by hand,

yet, this poem,
is my legal tender for you,
come purchase your poem
from the cells of my tissue

spend it wisely,
for everything is beautiful
but delimited,
in its own way

when thy body needs to survive,
this body rises to connive,
this body to provide,
words of relief,
of soul solution,
in words precise,
particular,
designed medicine
designated for thy spirit

all you need supply,
the need,
and perhaps,
a bit of editing