Linger
Its not cruelty
that makes me linger
upon your breathless impatience.
Its part mastery
fingertip control
the striking of taut piano strings.
Its part pleasure
Lost to time and space
Semibreves and quavers of whorls and ridges.
Its part imagination
I am you am me
a span shuddered by unison souls.
As dewdrop to the mighty seas,
A linger to your fevered please.
that makes me linger
upon your breathless impatience.
Its part mastery
fingertip control
the striking of taut piano strings.
Its part pleasure
Lost to time and space
Semibreves and quavers of whorls and ridges.
Its part imagination
I am you am me
a span shuddered by unison souls.
As dewdrop to the mighty seas,
A linger to your fevered please.
posted by Crunchy Weta at 3:15 AM
5 Comments:
And temperature rises... *slow grin* Now you've got my throat all parched. Heehee. ^_^ Your words here have a certain caress -- in terms of both image and sound. (And I like reading them out loud, practice a little more, relishing the pauses.) ^_^
Here, drink from this chalice of ambrosia, bound to cure whatever ails ya.
Thanks for dropping by :-)
. your touch leaves prints as flowing images grow connections . .
Hi Bradford, Thanks for dropping by, I'm goin to pop over to your place for a cuppa and a read soon.
Cheers
Twas a delicate touch indeed. Thank you Lynn. Will be dropping by your blog soon for a read and a cuppa. Cheers
Glenn
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