Wending the Wordsmith in Me

Words have long been my passion,
From icy flakes perched on pursed lips,
To honeyed caresses on silken skin,
They are my loyal companions;
A jumbled rumbling of sounds
Containing hidden steps and arches,
Pitted pathways carved with feelings
And memories stamped on tender skin;
Exposed, flayed before the world,
Awaiting both censure and praises,
In heartfelt equidistance,
My letters swerving and twisting,
Reaching past their manmade boundaries,
To conform to the voice of poetry,
And the musings of the my ink-stained fingers.
Every syllable of mine is a step, a throb of the heart,
Beating in time to a work of art.

✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

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