I pore over the pages
Slowly - very slowly -
Savoring the taste of the words in my mouth.
I do this privately,
Nurturing this secret relationship religiously.
I can hold only the words,
Masterful, pure art,
Stripping life, love, lust, and my soul bare.
I want every syllable,
Filling me until I must spill over or die.
I feel in every cell the phrases,
Carefully chosen, measured,
Resonating in my being like a cello.
I can not touch the man,
Elusive, out of time and place,
Holding my heart and breath in his hands.
So I kiss the sacred words,
Slowly, deeply, incalzando,
Taking them inside the space I long for him to fill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem