Coming clean. I have been trying for weeks on this. I have hard copy to prove it (you could sell them on e-bay) for I compose best on paper even when I cannot read my writing (what extra intrigue? what did I ever mean?).
It’s meticulous business: writing poetry. Words must be exactly chosen, purposefully and carefully, while sentiments can be evasive, suggestive, practically not there and still as omnipresent as air around us, however unseen but throttling, stifling, strangulating in their absence.
Secret: sentiment moves poetry more than words. I dare say sentiment moves people more than biology, theology, physiology, psychology, criminology. I digress.
Sure, we know some words, define their meaning, lean on their semantics as ways to get more mileage out of certain terms. It’s how we relate.
But sentiment says it all. It always has, even without speaking.
One simple action can cause an incredible chain reaction. If words could only have such power.
So a draft for you, despite the lofty introduction.
Only a draft because the particular part of me has not had final say on what stays in the poem and what goes. Much will and won’t. I am terribly indecisive about poetry. I like trying out the combinations for different effect until I sometimes, alas, forget what I was orginally trying to convey.
But here’s the start. I will improve it for the experience deserves a better memory. I am experimenting with format. Please be patient. I’ll get it down. (I want to mimic the stroke of fingers with words, down and around; what a lovely feeling. Ears might like it, too.)
The tactile touch of you
Against the whole of me
Covered by warm, gentle hand
A sheath into which to slip
A haven in which to be found
The fingers explored around
Absorbing complete complicity
A license for self to expand
And express, receive a tip
A mere thumb, here or there
Feelings a brain can feel
Emotion a body will expound
Meeting explained explicitly
- Mary O. Fumento, 2008