When there seems to be a type of confusion in my mind, as to what it is I'm trying to convey in my writing, I let free thought flow. In the end, sometimes a simile or a metaphor sneaks in. I read and reread these poems, changing, and letting them take on a visual effect, a sculpture of sorts.
Before I post whatever it is I post, I think about what picture I want to show you (if any), to attach to what I write. When reading this poem, I thought of Auguste Rodin and his beautiful, sensual sculptures. There are times when different senses take over while writing, and for me, with this poem, the most sensual aspect of the human anatomy are the hands. When you watch a ballet, a singer, a musician, an artist of any sort, that's what I see. I picked Rodin's hands to give to you....If you're wondering why the hands, that's why.
Before I post whatever it is I post, I think about what picture I want to show you (if any), to attach to what I write. When reading this poem, I thought of Auguste Rodin and his beautiful, sensual sculptures. There are times when different senses take over while writing, and for me, with this poem, the most sensual aspect of the human anatomy are the hands. When you watch a ballet, a singer, a musician, an artist of any sort, that's what I see. I picked Rodin's hands to give to you....If you're wondering why the hands, that's why.
I close my eyes
tendrils grab and hold
warmth of evening dew
branches hugging lattice
fragrance fights the night
and feels the subtleness of you
out of sight
sings the air
up you climb
into the dark
wraps a cloak
never to let go
inhale the night
longing to evoke
around all things
stronger you cling
smell the sweetness
I close my eyes, anew
knowing you are there
I breathe the scent of you
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