I don’t have a typewriter;
my fingertips on lettered keys,
the old fashioned kind of way…
I don’t have a pencil or a pen;
my thoughts I would inscribe,
my restless mind keeps dropping them…
I don’t have a sheet of paper;
simple and so smooth,
and laid out bare upon my stare…
I have these words;
said in my whispered breath,
nestled at the nape of your neck,
traced upon your skin,
my spoken wish begins,
transcribed upon your curves,
touching so many tingling nerves,
my message for you is now complete.
Written on the parchment of our flesh.
No need to speak;
as our hearts skip a beat.
Your hands plunging deeper,
beneath our satin sheets.
~ an EWK Poe’em ©2016 EWK