Museum of the Felt

A Poem by Melinda

Oh, his informal grace
What is it, that makes my heart pound?
His lips? The way they reach out,
begging for me to kiss

His shoulders, a balcony
To what lays beneath, Hair?
Perhaps? Curls, whirlwinds against the night
Voice, winds through hollow trees.

Eyes, rugged jewels, ringed wisdom
Soft, but deeper than the night sky
Grasps the planets,captures stars
Fingers navigate across my body

Oh, how much shall I explain?
Too much to place into words
Him, a masterpiece of oils
and water, painted on the finest canvas

The finest, softest
Intoxicating kiss, glance
Hearts, beat within
another, perfect cadence