Red-Poet

There is no rhyme or reason Form is flawed and grammar treason Sonnets crumble Stanzas tumble As the words fall to the page Fighting in each others rage A war for placement and position Where "mystery" would battle "kitten" Lines are not to be considered As 'cross the virgin field they skitter Some will rise to written glory Others fall for later stories Locked inside a vault of red Kept within a maelstrom head Peeping out from calm green eyes Wishing they could have the prize Waiting for the sweetest sin The chance to fall and fight again

Palm up, facing a palm down Close enough to touch Yet miles apart As the energy flows Between outstretched fingers Feel the heat in that slice of space Moving ever closer Like dancers on a pavane A tiny brush of skin Soft and smooth Each palm looking onward Radiating desire with every motion Saying nothing And everything all at once Handclasp So simple Such a smell gesture That betrays so much

If I gave you the chance to find me in the night Would you follow? Listen closely for the sound of footfalls Or the swish of a coat and jeans Would your senses lead you to me? Smell my perfume Hear my breathing, short and quick See me in the tree, watching you Carefully Running from you Would you still find me? Dark eyes on pale skin as you pull me to you Caress my cheek and whisper words Hold my hand and tell me that you need me Say my name like it's everything to you Would you love me then?