I did hear you

I want you to know that I heard you
I didn't miss the shiver in your voice
You've emotionally connected with this space
You come here to scratch an itch you can't explain
I know I won't make you go one to one.

I used to write poetry
It used to matter to me
My work and that scavenged of others
were treasures to me
rotting scraps of paper though they were

Words and magic are the same
There is no time in my memory
before the awareness of lyric
the importance of presentation
swing, lilt, tone, meaning

Your attraction to my words
is an uncontrollable aphrodisiac
causing my mind to swirl out of control
words lost to cravings
a flash, surging rush, deep breath

losing touch with everything
but the sudden need -
driving, urgent, unforgiving -
to experience your flesh again
all five senses buried in you.

My memory of your voice,
the way it breaks when you sigh
the dance of your laughter
the sweet murmur in the back of your throat;
I shiver.

I have so much to share
but it becomes lost
in my frustration
the impotence of my words
to bring me my desire.