Eh, it was a rough monday

With relative ease
With quiet calm
Found in the thunderous words of a hushed master
An ancient, wise master

With smallish lenses through which I see
His lenses
His words
Making me believe
In the rhythm
In the language
Of this nation

Making me know something
Of the easy, subtle flow
Of energy and power
Passed between men
Between women
Between lovers and tutors

Diligent pupil that I am
Listening to the grit of the words
As they work their way
Out of his pen, out of his mouth
And I am sure he is making half of this up
Letting it be recorded as he thought It up
Never minding who will clean it up

Naked, raw, proverbial words
Silky, sultry, illustrious words
That make me fall in love all over again
That make me melt, make me sweat all over again

Trembling,
Shivering,
Dripping,
Anticipation,
I turn the page
And I read aloud
“Come, said my Soul
Such verses for my Body let us write”