Her Truth When my hands caress
the gentle forms of her poetry
I want to communicate
in a language other than words -
Words tumble violently
Into nothingness.
Her poetry is all I understand.
She is my sun.

I do not know how else to tell her
she is beautiful.
She folds into shyness
upon my revelation.
Her poetry evokes
a thousand searing emotions
in me.
Alas, she knows not her truth
That burns my lips
and keeps my restless oceans
at bay.  ¶ 5:41 PM