The language of love

Is it hidden?

This body language

which rides up

the hem of skirts and trousers

Is it a smile that stokes the fire

like a poker

is it the emotion of being a joker

a fear of being alone in the dark

no spark to light your way

Is it truth?

or is it fiction?

is it an addiction?

or is it in the scent

of pheromones or the way you gently moan

when you are touched that way?

like alley cats

we spit, bite and snarl

but all the while

we need the language of love

and it speaks through everything we say

but in mystery is still shrouded to this day.

My muse’s secret poem

The burning poem it’s words burn like flame
I hold it my heart but it burns all the same
I tried ridding myself of the fire
But the flames spoke to me of my muse
Aspiring me to choose
To love and lose the game
Loves painful consequence
My hidden shame
In desperate longing the poem was a light
Showing me a door and a key
Life is nothing with responsibility
In darkness of fragility
I hear a voice beckoning me
To hide my muse’s secret
and yet it flows through me like the fiery flames
I try to retain the pain and burning
My heart is alight with yearning
So with the key I lock the secret poem in a room
It stills burns shining with the truth
Yet I feel I have hidden a fragment of my soul
That still burns to this day out of control.