"i don't get poetry"
you say
as your fingers slowly trace
in rhythmic patterns
around my cheekbone
across my lips
along the jut of my hipbone
my pulse, gently beating
a thousand words per minute
the curvature of my lines
read back to you in
kinesthetic verse
geographic planes
translating metaphor into meaning
you smile and i skip a beat
the next line all forgotten
but you.
you.
drifting into the hazy dream of sleep
you, who think poetry a bit obscure
deciphers the rhyme and rhythm and reason in me
and i think you get it now
that aesthetic inquiry
expands the awareness
one
microcosm
at
a
time
unearths
the poetry
in all.
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