Writing Silent Poetry

There’s a style of poetry
I haven’t written in years 
that I miss writing—
Silent poetry.

No place was off-limits
when the urge arose,
whether in public or in private
or in a car or against an armoire.
I used to take my time
with each curve,
tracing with fingers and lips—
teasing the sensitive margins.
Slow and confident hands
undressed the distractions,
either by force
or
  piece
    by
      little
        piece.
I was careful with form
going over my favorite parts—
orally,
before I started.
From there
it was a creative blur.

Heart began racing…

…ideas interlacing…

…my soul moaning…

…the night intoxicating…

It always ended with my body drenching.

And like that, 
another unadulterated piece
of silent poetry.
When I freed myself from
the paralyzing prison
of ecstasy,
I couldn’t help myself 
but go back and
rewrite it
the same night
about three more times.

Truthfully, there’s nothing silent about it.

And like any poet,
when I wrote silent poetry
I found that words
get in the way
when my attention
was focused on the beauty
in front of me.

Image by vk.com

Not out loud

Time wanders around outside—
inviting your imagination to come play.
I call it day-dreaming.
You call it, “a creative time-out.”

You always ask
what I’m thinking.
But I’m too busy 
trying to answer,
what inspires you,
what you dream about, and
why I love the real you.

Just when I draw an answer,
your whispered wink tells me,
not out loud.”

(taken from Pinterest: behance.net)