this poem is an outburst
of unfettered emotions
of all the other poems
that never left my pen
the verse-weaver in me lay dormant far too long
in the darkling dingle and brume of prolonged hiatus...
words overgrown, ripened, harvested
now lie strewn on wind-swept pallid pages
would you tread this long-forgotten path?
read words that yearn to cleave your heart?
you know my poems are never about you
you never sit in them anyway
but now, come, just this once
walk right in
perch between lines
look, the day has not quite
squandered itself away
there’s still time
for a brief tryst—
for a one-poem swig
before you leave
That invitation halfway through to "walk right in" and "perch between lines" is brilliant. You have such a unique voice in this and I love the effortlessness of this, the way your thoughts are spilling free...