by Steve King
© 2020 All rights reserved
Your speaking moves more than the air,
it seems.
I am, with every murmur, shaken
too,
transported always where your will
requires,
my wishes, resonant at every turn,
attend the lingering strains of
your desire.
Much stronger than the weight of
loud command,
your musings will demand obedience.
You know that I am helpless to
ignore,
and every instant, as I lie in
wait,
my urgent station sighs aloud for
more.
Suspended like a mote in dim
moonlight,
my substance cedes to rapt
imaginings,
and, shedding every motive of my
own,
I fall upon the pleasures you might
bring,
awash, enfolded, no bright charm
deferred,
