‘She asked me if I enjoyed listening to poetry’…
I could not reply,
Instead I turned and ran away.
Not noticing that the sky had begun to paint a landscape filled with neon
halfheartedly I passed by each section of this little world and stumbled,
evidently unaware of how deeply her unanswered question moved me
– haha – literally
To the point of falling –
over a little pit of nothingness ,
a picturesque silence of stories yet to be created, and after all what is poetry?
Is it not the symphony of breaths paired in passion?
Could one find poetry in hands trembling in fear of touching…
The uncertainty of possibly losing control if those palms were to connect?
How poetic is that look?
When knees and veins react to it as though that stranger’s stare is everything your life has been preparing you for.
If such sights induce poetic thoughts then :
how do we hear them?
Unless you press your ear hard to her chest in a rested attempt to caress the nestled bit of love in her arms.
She asked me whether I liked hearing poetry –
Well I’d sure like to find out about the sounds of her heart…
Until then I will keep walking, stumbling as I convince myself that the question was merely a passing of time in an exchange of casual conversation…
After all – What is poetry?