poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Her Little Ghost

So loud...
telling me to move here to this spot
where we can both see clear without
hindrance a view so beautiful,
filling us with silence.
I can hardly hear over the
sound of her breathing.
We flow like water
over pebbles, the nerves in my hands recording
every touch of every surface
of every shiver and textured sigh.
Her hand moves with impossible strength
down her delicate arms,
Her lush lips, red as berries, part and drip sweet
noise into my ear.
Her little ghost sings some melody thin as mist
veils in the morning sun.

12 Jun 07

Rated 8 (8) by 3 users.
Active (3): 6, 8, 10
Inactive (0):

(define the words in this poem)
(10 more poems by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


I really like this, the imagery is beautiful.
 — crazynlove3

thanks crazy - thats very nice of you to say

 — Mongrol

ohh thank you for the ratings whoever!!!

 — Mongrol

-small change to last line-
 — Mongrol