when lust is dead,
and routine pollutes the head,
lonely is your heart,
unused is your bed.
Embark on a romance with words
toy and tease, search and squeeze,
each letter till
A perfect body presents itself,
upon the page,
something special,
created out of poetic rage.
When the heart cries out for love,
remember the words from above,
open the wounds,
and let the weepy words,
splash out onto the welcome white.
When the mind searches for
soft sweet memories in the sleepy night,
then my friends it time to write.
Unlike brief sexual gratification,
a writers satisfaction,
does not need compliments to appease.
unlike human bodies,
the body of a poem,
does not need cosmetics
to stir the hearts of those who,
compose, and view.
yet long into this cold rainy night,
it is not words i need its you.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bodies-poems-and-hers/
