Beautiful words enchant the brain in every lovely way vocabulary can make.
Sweet melodies play along my tongue as I read aloud to myself in the quietest of midnight hours, the poems you breathe in digital ink.
The one who writes of love so intelligently, inquisitivly, longing in such a high altitude it’s grasping me.
Could I ever be as much as he in making others feel so deeply with the words I echo in my own ink.
How different could he be from me, as we are but two poets in a sea of similar selves, lost in heated heartfelt daydreams of love everlasting.
Even so, I find myself at the end of every sonnet you sing in a state of pause, in a pondering, and think, “Who is this Lonely Author who’s writing captivates me…”