lady word thief

he sat
sinking deep into the worn leather of his swivel chair
each time the smooth seat twisted he thought of her velvet hips
each time the canister wheels rolled
her red mouth touched his pen
his educated fingers, broad square nails, chipped in a virile way
struggled to lay the ink
obvious women were never difficult to write
this one, this one
 was
words would not come to rest like curving images
she must have been a devil with those dark iron eyes
the color of burning coal
her arms fire on his dream neck, melting his chest, ravaging his thighs
his words
those he could always count on to surround him like a Barcalounger
for her –his thoughts stalled
no words rolled from those brusque fingers
the very same strong hands that only two nights before tasted a woman who left him in utter
want 
of better words
for burning off dark eyed dreams
maybe they were nightmares
who the hell was she 
to haunt his head the way she did
his silver-forked tongue abandoned him
his heart more empty than a starving lion’s stomach
words were his lady lovers, source of comfort
sex took the edge off
before the words flowed to the prostate paper
he methodically inked the first few lines–romancing the ideas, massaging the articles
until these thoughts built into languid, sultry, wild, bitter, blunt, cursive, cursed letters, forms, shapes, paragraphs, columns, wrapping text
for the very first time, it was not going he needed to get to
it was the coal fire eyed woman with the red lips
the hair like wild grass, the mouth cool as a spring stream
those hips moving like a raging river
in turbulence it was the wettest
but for all his whirl pooling desire
the real reason he couldn’t lose her
she was different
honest
, real
she carried in waves a silent sincerity
questions beneath the water – no different than his own
this unnerved him
she knew him already
and they’d never met
her frozen gaze left a latent image in his mind that would not fade
his heart now apostate purveyor of his soul
could only come up with four letters

she read the words she’d just written
about this gallant character
would the publisher buy it
does anyone really feel this way about anyone
she wondered
but not for long
she knew where this muse came from
what she couldn’t answer
was what four letters
that
she’d have to think on

lips

hearts and thoughts to Orlando

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