~*~

There are whispers in the woods
where temptation haunts and lovers dwell.
Stirring my private heart
moving deep inside the rustling
holding the moment still
longer than I imagined.

Magnifying the silence
a hush alone, quivers quietly
skimming the shallow waters I wade in.
A sort of seeking beyond the proximity of daydreams
relishing in vivid recall,
takes me back to the beginning
when I first held your eyes to mine.

My backbone fixed and knitted,
hard pressed between summer leaves
and moss covered stones,
tucked inside a treasure chest.
But it is the secret cove after the rain falls
where I am most content.
Smooth like satin, draped in chiffon
slipping between clouds of cashmere,
folded up in the beat of your heart.

Like a silver lining that keeps me covered
when my breath becomes a murmur
dancing on the wind that stirs my memories,
leaves me without words to define you.
You are simply the beginning and end of my poems,
just so.

Swaying in the gentle pull that yearns
under the blissful blue ethereal of midnight,
until the river runs and pulls me under,
stepping freely off the edge.

Drowning beneath each sensational ripple
rushing in the warmth of your rapids,
that I know by no other heart,
sending me,
time after time,
and again.

~*~

So sorry for not replying much, but you can be sure I'm reading all the time.  While on my trip to Maine, I got my fingers stuck between the panels of my sisters garage door, guess that's what the handle was for, ya think?  So I'm typing with one hand and the eraser end of a short pencil!  *throb* Gawd, I'm gonna die if I lose my touch.  Trying to blow dry my hair is another story all together.     Anyway, plaster of paris (sp) isn't all it's cracked up to be that's for sure.  Hugs to all you good poets.  

[This message has been edited by BluesSerenade (08-26-2004 04:38 AM).]

[This message has been edited by miscellanea (08-26-2004 12:26 PM).]