Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.139.86.62
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
Part 2 of 2

.........eclectic mangling with each dextrous touch, fine lines begin to smudge, 


reality blends with fiction, body becomes an instrument, instantly switched on, fingers-the intimate, 


high octave tinkering, pursed lips to the sky-the vocalist singing,


 just how I want her to, sweet like this, as she reaches the high note I blow a kiss, 


to the sunlit heavens, eyes closed, lids show a redness, 


hotspots under my skin made to dance with a headshake, then a pause, open my eyes, awake, 


knees want to join in, one step away from Tigger boinging, 


as I hunt for the remote, volume increasing with every note, 


stopping just before distortion, body moving like my old (Addidas) Torsion,


 trainers, feel no tension, my brain is, 


switched on but cruising on auto pilot, I'm left to admire, violin violet, 


piano pink, guitar green, an orchestral rainbow, every scene,


 enhanced by their touches, my favourite artists, no paint brushes, 


stripped down to the basics, have to love that feeling when the bass hits,


 face scrunched, blurring whatever light is on, look like I've been upercutted by Mike Tyson,


 but feeling no pain as my feet leave the floor, a 10 second count, more, 


suspended animation, Brad Pitt in Snatch sort of levitation, 


floating on a smoke cloud, music thunders beneath me, loud, 


floorboards vibrating, cobwebs swinging with the speakers' exhalation, 


as they inhale, hairs stand on end, body reads like brail, 


each bar stitched together perfectly as a new artist tries to make rap history, their story-telling works for me, the Bayeux tapestry, 


in musical form, beats used to intrigue, prolong,


 the experience, body moving with agreeable obedience, 


focussed but thoughtless, each word, note, adding more to this, 


meditative meander, a mind expander, 


with no prescription, back alley purchase, a beautiful addiction, no negative surplus,


 every part of you consumed for that moment, music is life, you own it, 


let it trickle over you like time, follow to the very last line, 


and beyond, 'til words stop, abscond, 


from the page, a blank sheet left, an empty stage,


 this track fading out, ready to welcome the next, no doubt about to molest, 


me further, further towards euphoria, that faux fur softness has me wanting more of her, 


softly touching my extremities, fingers like sea anemonies, 


as I'm forced to stop writing, anticipating a classic, then the bass kicks right in.....
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required