Wavering thought
clusters of sparking
unborn,
where few
make the grade.

 

Most catch themselves
in a swift and speedy
retreat.

 

Hidden behind
honeysuckle
perfumed sleeves.

 

There's a natural shyness
when small notions form,
transfer to paper
what is not said.

 

Would you
seek that secret place
with the gentleness
of words coated
with cream?

 

Wondering...

How would your touch be,
when your fingers curl
round my hand?

 

The simplest of things
allow me to turn
and smile