This poped into my head while posting in a slightly purile thread in the random thoughts section. I used to write a fair amount, never really tried, stuff would just show up in my brain without my asking for it. The only way that I could get it out again was to write it down never to read it again never wanting to. It has been at least two years since anything, probably longer. And there is a goodly amount of cheese in this, but then all poetry is made of cheese of one kind or another though it usually contains other things as well. I'm not even sure if this can rightly be called poetry as there is no consistent rhythm, verse, or meter to it, there is some of course but for all I can tell it is random and inconsistenet. This may be more of a rant than actual poetry. Anyhow, heregoes. Beware, this is very very weird and perhaps a bit psychotic. I we? sit silently eyes closed touching barely fingertips and tips of fingers Music maybe but no words only music softly touching fingertips touching fingertips touching hands but not moving mine alone each moves the other moves the self both in time together but alone neither fingertips alone touch the air touch nothing feel the void fingertips together touch fingertips together touch hands touch arms Fingertips trace shoulders Fingertips trace faces Two faces facing faces eyes closed Fingertips gently Touching soft bellies naked breathing Fingertips touching warmth Sharing warmth glow brighter than with eyes open Sharing life sharing energy; calm Fingertips barely touching fingertips Touching chests heave gently slowly steady Fingertips feel heartbeats peaceful Two faces facing faces Two bellies, chests, heartbeats Safe here Fingertips touching fingertips Touching minds touching souls Two faces eyes closed Two souls eyes open
what a lovely poem you have written... what an energy ,it speaks softly of to me.. how such a gentle sense from one to another can create such a garden of human beauty... thats what this piece made me feel ..... i enjoyed reading this love n peace from saff
I enjoyed this poem. The last five lines are especially nice - your poetry trancends the words it is comprised of. Beautiful.
insensitive people put their experience between their thumb and forefinger their fingertips are as mute as their consciences.
