vibrating crystal
in her fragile ecstasy
about to shatter
-----
poet in shadows
disguising his tears as ink
his sorrow as love
-----
butterflies rising
at your petals' unfolding
hummingbird feeding
-----
i write much of love
other uncommon feelings
words i can't define
-----
no mourning for
the poet who's already dead
whose words seem alive
-----
i have things to do
things the living must deal with
until they are dead
-----
her past left behind
with her clothes and inhibitions
her journey begins
-----
guttural his growl
bestial moan that she evokes
her body trembling
-----
she crosses the room
a naked inspiration
he writes of tonight
-----
in some other age
we embraced becoming one
lovers once before
-----
a onetime poet
surrounded now by empty words
which have no purpose
-----
spreads pastel petals
to catch the blast of his storm
wet with frenzied rain
-----
i wait immobile
fingers poised above the keys
my muse deserts me
------
i fear my own words
tiny swords which cut both ways
foolishly wielded
-----
pleasures of poetry
words slippery secretions
tastefully traded
Well, Mr. Baldwin, you have written a deep and very interesting poem here. Very good work!