an ode to ee cummings
the muse is alive
like flowing water from the rivers
opening onto the seas
never still
but silent
soundless musings
buried deep in her womb
she floats
like an angel taking flight
to where her beloved is
she moves
sinewy flesh
liking what yet she cannot see
soon, she thinks to herself
she dreams…soon
if this be love
then let it be love
for nothing
can describe the heat in her flesh
the ache in her belly
yearning for a kiss
a touch that is to come
nothing but love
if they love
then their breath
shall meet in the distant sky
silently akin to a whisper
silent
silent
yet understanding who love is
they love
like the rain unrelenting
on a rainy day
and strangers be lovers
swept off in a dream
an ode to love
the muse stirs
