You take that stage,
Poised to speak,
tongue brushed
across dry unparted lips,
so that the words can slip.
Charged room, full of static.
Release.
Lightning crashes,
Shimmery light fades blue.
Blinded burning retinas,
swirl in and out of view.
The air zips
and surges through every muscle.
The room has dulled its hustle,
the lights have blown a fuse.
There is no one here, just me and you. Alone.
You are speaking
directly to me. Your words
so delicately teasing their way free
from the lips that imprisoned them.
Now they are out,
and drifting into my ears.
Taking a route direct
to my heart.
To become a part
making me whole again.
You let loose more word gunfire,
more rapid verbal flurries,
more perfectly punctuated
playful pieces of poetry.
They pour into every opening,
Then they sliver and ooze
through the internal tunnel system I use,
until they come to my brain
and they soothe.
Taking away
any discomfort or pain.
The mic so close to your lips,
I wish to be there instead of it.
Letting the heat of your words,
the beat of your heart.
Course through my body,
a synced rhythm in time.
Your eyes look directly into mine
and I know you are speaking to me alone.
There is no-one else here.
in this weird poetry twilight zone.
Thanks for reading
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