I yearn for your touch
To be held tightly
Within your grasp
So I may stroke
The blank page before us
As my ink expresses
Your thoughts
and splatters your emotions
Across blank's page
Please hear my cries
And clasp me in your hand
Oh, just image
The magic we create
If only....
How I yearn for your touch
Defeat your writer's block
and see me yearning for
Your touch

I crave for that dance,
You, sweetly entwined betwixt my fingers,
Filled with the ink of enchantment,
The delicate nib are your lips,
Adorning your sublime silhouette,
Let me move you in cursive swirls,
sprinkling all the letters,
Forming a beauteous verse of love,
Dancing upon the stage of paper,
How wondrous is the fact,
That you fathom my inner being,
And splash it upon the sheets,
Like pearls from a sentiments' string,
Help me rise again,
From all the worldly pain,
I lovingly desire,
Your touch......

Collaboration with Shilpa Sandesh
(c) January 31, 2017
Kelly Rose
Shilpa Sandesh

i.

roses in the dust,
winter-love greys, shadows
of a lost world.

ii.

i was much smaller than i thought
and the sky
a rounded dome,

a cathedral of light
with stone arches

river-green pillars

and the blue-green
emotions
of dream....

iii.

imagination
waited, an
opal star
blown against
the tide.

iv.

all i could see was the
blues and greens
paper blushed,

clouds and watermarks,

watery daylight
like a glistening pool

as if the sky
was a stained window
and there was
no fire,
only a scattering
of light

only softness
of the heart,
only the magics

of its mirror mists.

v.

like maple leaves
fallen in a
stream filled
with moonlight
in the rivery
nets of the soul.

Show me
true beauty
how waves
break the shore
into individual grains
yet each contains
the whole
crystalline universe
reflecting light
renouncing midnight

Leave me not
upon the sand
barefoot and stripped
recounting sins
to the weary wind
return my heart
to loving grace
salt-scrubbed chambers
cleansed of hate
tenderly reborn

let love
rise from this
arid ground
clear water drawn
from a deeper well
with cupped hands
tend the seeds
so we may eat
of the bounty
that rightfully belongs

to no one

his heart like a 20 oz framing hammer
his fists a sledge
his mind keen as a straight edge and razor knife
his body made hard from long hours
a grip like a pipe wrench
he would shake hands with vise grips
his gaze unnerving
but smart
he could see through the blueprints
when he laughed , which was seldom,
he shook the foundations.
When you needed his help,
he was there.