Recitation

Dear sir...

You come to me only in my dreams

Never in the flesh

Like many I desire you

You dominate my thoughts

When no one else will do

Your baritone voice

With its flawless articulation

Creating clever phrasing and luscious inflection 

Allowing occasional voiceless blank spaces

Sacrosanct milliseconds of silence

The quintessential bard

You read the stories of children

Give life to letters of the dead

Each slight hand gesture

In perfect harmony with words

Tiptoed over lightly 

Your eyes close

Heavy with the brooding of love

Languishing for a poet's instant 

Opening again to regain the recitation's vision

While the blond oak podium melds with your body

As you become one with the story

And we forget your white tee shirt and maroon jeans

Imagining the tattered POW uniform and sunken face of the letter's writer

Sir...

As my muse

The obligation belongs to you

To breathe veracity into my letters

My poetry and my stories

The ones that encircle my soul

Grip my heart and complete my existence

That cleve so magically to you

Adhering to your persona

But alas sir...

You come to me only in my dreams

Never in the flesh

And I am no famous poet or writer

My words crossing your lips

Remain as illusive as touching the moon

©kcasady2014