A very short, random poem I wrote about the effect Pablo Neruda's poetry had on me. It was kind of just a spur-of-the-moment thing and I hadn't posted in ages, so...

With your pen and voice and sheer poetry
You touched my heart, softly stroking it -
Sounding a string or two, deeper and richer
Than I thought I'd know. On a starless English night
You swept away the clouds
And let me see the bright pinpoints of a lover's dreamworld. My heart and mind were wrenched,
I didn't care, I fell
to it like some lovesick maniac and
let loose the feelings I'd kept hidden for so long. That night,
I held the pages, more fragile than a wing,
between my fat fingers and came so close to love
I felt I could touch its face:
To me, nothing mattered
More than words.