There is something spiritual
In your stares, in your hugs
In the close space
between our tounges.
...
Insomuch as we have the winds on our face tonight
The ocean commends us not
...
Perhaps to love is to burn in hell without remorse
Since, in the days that I did, I had no recourse
...
there is no poetry to write
even as with one night
the dance that was shared
rocked the room that was bare
...
it is not often that clouds become spotless
and if it were spring in Tuscany, I would not
for the world, miss such a pricless surprise
not even if you're in bed and your voice remain sultry
...
I write, as if for the first time I learned to write.
There is heaviness
...
Should I wait longer than necessary?
What is that part of me that fears you?
...
You are to me the moon.
As I feel like I'm the earth,
You make me swoon.
Show me your worth
...
J.P. Monlinong is a licensed chemist working in a research laboratory up until now. He swore he'd leave his work and be more creative but science has kept him busy thus far from doing so.)
Freeverse For A God
There is something spiritual
In your stares, in your hugs
In the close space
between our tounges.
I worship you.