My Mistress

I shook her hand,

feigning firmness, but

she must have seen I was

shaky and unsure.


That wasn’t the first time

my eyes had fallen on her

graceful form, but never before

had I garnered the nerves

to utter a word to the strange,

otherworldly girl.


But that day, I had been abandoned

by my former, less elegant companion:

Fiction. He lacked her indescribable

beauty, and offered, in return, more

sturdy regularity.


But he took a left turn

amid traffic I could not

traverse, and left me lost.

I was caught in the crowd,

then she was there,

my savior, perched upon the curb.


Her words held such melody

and her voice enchanted me,

as I found my way into

her world, and began to

revere the simple way she

spoke and wove a spell to free

me from my every inhibition,

each instilled at my former station.


So I’ve stayed,

by her side,

left my last lover behind

and embraced the binding

release from form,

restricted by my commitment

to the enigmatic minimalist.


My voice now mirrors

her smooth rhythm,

and rides along the rise

and fall of feelings as

they sway in strength

and persuasion.


That day was a blessing

in disguise, my chance

to see a new way

of flowing with words.


I watched,

we met,

she led,

we danced.


I fell in love

with Poetry.


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