Turns a soft pirouette of finger end
Along the ridges of discs that make the spine
And I mark a period to end the sentence
Written upon soft skin
Smooth as a relaxed sigh that escapes parted lips
In a gentle exhale of seconds ticked off
One check (tick)
Two check ( tock)
I scribe to small of back where hollow forms
Letting tongue taste the salt of sweat glistening
Before a rise of hip curves to please eyes
Or palms that might erase dark windows staring back
At the blank gaze of face lost inside
The mirage of dreams

Three check (tick)
Four check ( clock tocked seconds rhyme)

With vowels moaned to the whisper of poems
Glyphed a slow summons of wrists gently turned
To show the veins that lie beneath as I bled softly
Along the nerves a simple thread of heartbeat
Rhythms show how a verse ends
A metaphor for the ribs caged
And stone to hold apart the looking glass world
Of Cheshire grins upon lips wet with wry spittle
Licked by tip of tongue

Breathes soft once upon times
To inhale the scent of amaryllis bloom
Gracing glass of its own with fair heads bloom
Petals of delicate hue opened vulnerable to bruise

Five check ( tick )
Six check ( toggle along mark of hands the tock)

I scribe soft to the end of line and pirouette fingers end
Marking a period again to end the simple words
Brushed upon a supple velum
And begin
Seven check (tick)

Second hands slow circles
Matching my own...

So, if my vocal cords can't collaborate to produce sounds to communicate audibly to your beautiful mind that I have an endless mission of loving you, can't there be another way to articulate this feeling?
What are my tongue, lips, alveolar ridge, hard palate, and velum doing?
I never knew that emotion could effectively shut down my speech tract.
How I wish my voice could play a melody into my heartbeat, and my heart have an audio port above my skin, so you can plug in your headphones in and listen to the lyrics of my love, because you have rendered me speechless.
I had it scripted in my mind how I would tell you eloquently how beautiful and charming you are.
Yet when I drew nigh, I decided to start with hello, to show some decorousness.
But I soon realized that my lungs couldn't even draw forth the air necessary to widen and narrow my vocal cords, and I stood ultimately voiceless, except for having stammered those 2 solitary syllables, let alone the remaining dozens.
Should I comply with the belief that actions speak louder than words? That I might employ charades to better convey my feelings?
I always thought I was one who could speak with the power of a warlord, yet here I am before you squawking like a sick parrot.
But what could render a spoken word artist so totally silenced?
Maybe let's try establishing causality.
The first time I saw you, you blinked.
When you opened your eyes again, I saw a vibrant blue universe I wanted to explore.
Is that what silenced me? Well maybe you could do that again? It might set me free.
Don't wait for me to ask,
I can't speak.
I hope you never go to an event where the performer needs to concentrate, cuz you'll distract them and they might actually die.
It's because of what you carry,
More mystical than mermaids, you shroud me in Medusa's curse, your eyes communicate to mine, and I am now petrified.
I came of my own volition, but now I'm at your mercy.
Look away and set me free.
Instant infatuation within me converted into electric surges and fried my speech tract.
From a distance I was in great haste to meet you. Up close, I slow to a halt and stand like a big, dumb pillar.
I wonder why I am speechless.
I wonder why I am speechless because I am a man with a silk tongue who can stand before a woman and captivate her with words.
I wonder why I am speechless.
My negative lips attract positive kisses. Maybe we're both negative, so we repel.
How I wish my vocal cords would comply at least enough to produce a sputter of some kind, so at least you know that I'm stricken.
My hobby is to speak, and I am well practiced, so I wonder why I can't even stammer.
My phonetics cannot produce a squeak, let alone weave an elaborate syntax to melt your heart.
How unfortunate it is.

I am speechless because

I am in love

Bend the knees of my heart to the earth,
To the cold and frozen ground,
Let the fetters of memories war,
Finally be broken and unbound.

Were all the loves that once were lost,
Be cast into the sea,
Should roll upon the shores of souls,
Every flotsam and debris.

T'would not forestall the endless curse,
Of lost and lonely years,
Nor blot the stain on velum page,
Of all the cruel tears.

Bend the knees of my heart to the earth,
Let me weep 'til the sun shall rise,
If perchance t'would wash my soul,
And cleanse my burning eyes.

Nay I fear the deed is done,
We cannot mask the soul,
Nor scrape the blood from off the stone,
And make the mourner whole.

In this book of timeless love
you scribble each day's kindness
soaking up the sweat and tears
knotted words like silken threads

this page of clay where sunrise trembles
which follows night of ink-point embers
composed within this fevered slumber
and stays to pen this heart to velum

-cec

I live in a poets house.
Where ink is cement and words bricks.
Where visions are seen out my door.
And when window opens
wind blows gracefully
as gifts explode
to become sculptures of art.
Art that I anchor on velum yard,
as I invite people to visit my garden.

my passions
into a stone-like sheet of velum
I do everyday,
gracefully hammering words from heart.

Each word,
a discriptive part
as I'm a living, breathing tool in itself.

Each phase,
an art of craftsmanship
scribed wih purpose.

Firery torch of creation burns
dancing in flames igniting
stanza after stanza.

Chisel like pen
releases unwanted jargon
only leaving precious textured words.

Until,
my museum of prose is open.
Open,
for readers eyes to view
and dance inside
a writers masterpiece.

May we all dance together
on a dance floor of velum with feet of words.
May we all move gracefully with staff of pen
in circles below moon.
May we move divinely to scribe
our deep feelings unafraid.
And may we all celebrate
to know we are a gift.

There's a veiny, contaminated sky,
Coagulated blood pummels and rains atop the residents.

The subway never comes though it serves no purpose,
Any remnants of passengers are already forbidden.

Local "cleaners" are complaining about their jobs near the steps,
"Teeth sure hurts a lot more when it comes from the velum."

Another person is lighting a cigarette,
People wonder how they've got a new pair of lungs.

The empty diner's employees said they ran out of lamb,
Someone found a pile of bodies behind their den.

The fog is threatening to choke the buildings,
Only the sewers can give shelter from those above.

Plenty of the streetlights have gone missing once again,
They always come back in different colors.

Telephone pole knots challenge tenants with their glare,
Nothing left to voice their thoughts, only discolored concrete.

A blasting mess of jumbled drones fill their mouths,
Rusted barbed wiring gives it flavor.

  Hardly any life near the edge,
There is a net on top in case of any saving throws.