whatever more
is still to find –
would trade
of these – familiar days
to know the heat
of one more kiss
a mouth –
would every fear

I’ve heard it said
I know tis true
the painter seeks
with words to paint –
a poet dreams
in colors
not her own
music works against
the fist
to soothe
a restless lover –
nights belong
safe within a song

for one more
brutal shade of red –
a stem of verse
to pacify
creation swells against
the brush –
with ne’er a thought
to words denied

. . .