Language Of Poetry — yaskhan

There is a warm mystery 
In the way he talks to her
She reads him in time's suspense
Embracing his lines of love....like
Smoky whisper of vetiver on skin

She aches for the rush of the warmth of his breath
Letting love lean into her
Letting him hold her soul
Letting the ink draw words out..

When the soul lusts with sensations of a poem
Letters become art
A scented inscription spells
Waiting for imagination to create reality

Illumination of candor...

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Language Of Poetry — yaskhan