Your words are art.

They dance off your tongue into the air
Sharing the atmosphere with my stunned silence.

Each string of twenty-six tragically overused letters
You sculpt together effortlessly in a matter of milliseconds.

Your words are art,
And you paint my fading reality anew with brilliant colors.

The moles on your hunched back
form themselves into constellations
each dot connecting to its neighbor.

I've become endlessly starry eyed
gazing at the wonders of your galaxy.

I wonder why you want to row
When there are just so many terms to know
Before you get in the boat and place an oar in the water,
Before you take a single stroke don’t think you ought to
Remind yourself of what they are, these parts and pieces,
Actions and orders that rowers use (but poets don’t)
So forgive me if I leave some out.
 
Let’s take a look at the boat (or rather the shell):
The seat you sit on,
​slides, backstop, shoes and riggers.
 
The skeg that stabilizes the shell,
​shoulder, saxboard, and pogies.
The top-nut that keeps the rowlock in place,
​swivel, stretcher and rollers.
 
Now for the oar (or rather the scull):
There’s the Spoon blade, the Macon blade,
​Smoothie or Tulip.
 
Ready (or not) for the stroke you take ?
An Airstroke (in the air) ,
​backsplash, backwater, or body stroke,
 
Go on bury the blade, check the cover,
​ but don’t catch a crab!
Mind out for the drunken spider,
​watch the feather and the finish,
 
Inside hand, outside hand,
​hands away, miss the water,
Leg back, lie back,
​pause the paddling, watch the pitch,
 
Release and recover,
​don’t shoot your slide,
Swing the stroke rate,
​and space those puddles.
 
Careful there’s no skying,
​and absolutely no washing out.
 
Ready for a repecharge?
Or perhaps you’d prefer an egg-beater?
Ask the *** to call a flutter.
 
Easy oars
​Hold her hard
Ship oars
​One foot up & out
Waist, ready, up
​Shoulders, ready, up
​Way enough!