This poem was written about someone very dear to me, comments, questions, or any other sort of feedback is appreciated. Thank you.

For what it's worth
my hands, once masked in scarlet, now gloved in nervous affection
stretch and twist, writhe and crawl
fingers like the legs of blushing spiders sway at our introduction
between your voice and my lungs there is a consistency to silence
and such a sweet, quiet melody is that your tongue
that would make my own lips tremble and sometimes blot the calm the stuttering
and shy muttering, from both our throats
would catch at the back of mine, and bring an awkward, elated front
but trembling with fever and addiction
and with love, and with being in love
will stain my complexion with my discolored scarlet mask
but now drained of my hate, it blooms and spreads
anticipation sits waiting on my restless tongue
then grows heavy and overflows, reddening my mask
with impossible affection I smile
and blur, hoping to find your warmth in unconscious bliss
but distantly, the soft comfort of your breath
kisses my neck, and hushes me into slumber
fragile, like a child, like a doll
I have willingly, unknowingly submitted to trust
to love
and to you
the sweet, seduction of your voice
has muted mine, and like a soft lullaby, drawn me in
and infinitely
and for every stray word, it strengthens

Submitted: January 31, 2009

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