thirst

thirst

I search for her pages when
the well of my soul has run dry,
finding solace in the beauty
of poetry whispered to fingertips.

I close my eyes and imagine words
wrapped around my parched tongue,
intoxicated by the milk and honey
that trickles from this divine lexis.

I drink until I’ve neared my fill,
pulling on the poetic breast
as my hands reply to her thoughts,
a lust for verse transferred
to a screen in swift keystrokes.

But the longing remains, ever present
and pulsing beneath the skin,
a glorious gluttonous appetite
that can never be truly satisfied.
The well runs dry again and again;
I search, I find, I drink.

I thirst.

Copyright © 2010 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved

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About cjchaffin

Wordsmithing is my passion. I eat, sleep, and breathe words and phrases, only to regurgitate them and pray that they are better off than when I first ingested them.
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