She is in my breath of words so often
That just to speak is to feel kissed by her,
To have my discontented voice soften,
As the gentle kiss of a whisperer.
She so inhabits each letter I write,
That I dwell in them as they are spoken,
So each poem is her inhaled delight,
Said aloud is her kiss for the broken.
The poems from her spirit emanate,
My pen is the instrument of her heart,
Each word is a moment to osculate,
Breathing in her kiss as the words depart.
I send out poetry with emphasis
On the words she breathed deep into my lungs,
Planted on my lips with her passion’s kiss,
Words she inspires play between our tongues.
Jan 30, 2019
Jan 30, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC
She is in my breath of words so often
That just to speak is to feel kissed by her,
To have my discontented voice soften,
As the gentle kiss of a whisperer.
She so inhabits each letter I write,
That I dwell in them as they are spoken,
So each poem is her inhaled delight,
Said aloud is her kiss for the broken.
The poems from her spirit emanate,
My pen is the instrument of her heart,
Each word is a moment to osculate,
Breathing in her kiss as the words depart.
I send out poetry with emphasis
On the words she breathed deep into my lungs,
Planted on my lips with her passion’s kiss,
Words she inspires play between our tongues.
Instagram @insightshurt
www.insightshurt.com
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