Free Verse # 399 (a chapel on the hill)

In a loud world
my heart
is a calm chapel
lying somewhere
on a green hill
where birds sing
and streams murmur
as your voice
inside of me wanders
like incense
like prayer
like the prophecy of poetry


where moss grows,
the chipped lips
of the cup that once
flowed with our wine,
burned hot with our tea
as we made poetry.


Sometimes I touch you
and this touch
swells my heart
in rivers of poetry;
rooting myself deeper
in the sanctity
of this touch,
annihilated as your being
becomes my heart’s poetry,
swimming inside
your throbbing sea of light.


A fiery death,
a moth’s death,
in her kiss I feel
the boundless force of life.


Poetry has always been a way to polish your face in my heart, to bring its light to a greater shining in my soul, my life.


I wake up drowning
in a sea of your sighs,
your breath
a shawl curled
around the limbs
of the world,
its heat
rising from the earth,
raining from the sky.


the wet ponds of night
her shewolf howl
arrives at dawn,
a tremor shaking
the sea of sleep,
a primal bite
in the flesh of poetry.


Her fragrance
an assassin’s knife
stealing through the night,
the fire of its steel
burning against my neck,
blazing the dark forest
of desire and poetry.


Her skin absorbs his words
like water the light
as she fills with the glow
of his states of mind,
the wine of his poetry.


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