The Caress of Words

When I read a poem that breathes, pulsing wildly, alive with its own heartbeat, relentless, compelling in its desire, I feel touched as if by another, feeling some unseen hand brushing my hair, lips light as air licking the flesh near my own sojourning heart.... And I return the caress as my hand glides ever questing o'er the soft and solid paper, my eyes rolling over the printed pages like a hawk seeking prey, looking with the desire of the wild at the naked words, unclothed by any convention, unspoiled by any deceit. A good poem is a lover, a great poem, a great lover, the kind you never forget. [written 1/20/20]