Stealthily, Free Verse Poem by Fidel Arcenas

You sit on my desk,
Your legs, a sonnet's couplet,
Perfect in meter and rhyme.
You look at me and smile;
Your dimples brighten my room
Lit only by glitched browser's light.
You puff your cigarette, blow
Smoke that wafts soothing incense
On my face, weary of weaving
Words into flawless lines.
From the other room, we hear
Carefree soles pounding on the floor
In perfect jibe with the sensual beat
Of percussion and drums.
For one brief moment we stare
Deep into each other's eyes... then
Stealthily, we exchange verses
From the depths of our own souls
Passionately free of meter and rhyme.