POESY

My ink runs ecstatically
Along your name
As if it lives
To birth you in words
Undulating sinuously
Along your gorgeous curves
Degusting each syllable
In silence
Until your very name
Becomes poetry
But sometimes…
Yes sometimes
You drop a few notes
Of your own
Into the waiting night
And the silence resounds
With the dulcet echoes
Of your whispers...
They flow over me
Softly...Oh! So softly...
And for a while
Upon a breathless sigh
I too, become a poem...

MS