He was a man
who was bursting
with effusive poems,
a boundless outpouring
of ornate articulation.
He fell in love
with a poetess,
a skilled doyenne
of his cherished art.
His garrulous lines
sparked with passion
for her careful starkness
of expression.
His pointed declarations
yearned for the soft edges
of her sinuous metaphors.
His pen,
engorged with ink,
burned
to mark
her page.
All poets
are essentially
in love
with language.
Our poetry
is birthed
from the ecstatic romance
of our lovemaking
with words.
This is excellent …. I AM in love with language …. constantly engorged pen/is always at the ready! #PassionEndorsed!
Reblogged this on Passion's Pleasure and commented:
Love this!
So your engorged pen/is always at the ready! lol. Sounds like you are the consummate passionate poet š Thanks for the reblog and your appreciations
I enjoyed reading this. It reminds me of April.
Hehe I’m glad you liked it Wuji