Her Gift

Her words made me think I had done something wrong.
So I went home to check.
Was it my breath?
I downed a mint, for the cool taste of it.
Her words made me feel I was on fire.
So I went home, and ate chorizo.
Just to make sure I was spicy hot
for the next conversation.
Her words made me feel small.
So I went home, and measured my manhood
only to come up short.
Her words made me swoon.
So I went home, and danced
to music only I had heard and I tried
to dip with an imaginary picture of her.
But I couldn't get back up from the floor.
Shoot this is to exhausting.
Her words made me feel like I was ten feet tall.
So I went home and climbed the ladder
and found out that my success
was only contributed to her.
Then came her gift
her words of poetry
She used them as projectiles
every once in a while
sending missives as missiles.
I was her target, and I ducked.
Her gift was her words
that could either soothe
or heal.
Her gift of song
Inside each poem
that I read
I keep reading her words.
I read in silence and I weep.
I could respond but I dont
for fear of knowing.
That her words, have left me
and in my quiet solitude
I use her words to paint
my picture of lust and love.
So tonight as she dances in her lovers
arms.
I stay home, and dream of LOVE
and find another breath mint
beside the table.
I stay home, and dream of LOVE
and find myself in fantasy
of sucking down her words
followed by her tongue
and I reach her place
the one that she had lost so long ago.
We both connect upon the page.
Her gift has made its mark
and the orgasm is as great
as it ever was inside the words.

August 21st 2004