Wednesday, December 16, 2009


His love knocks gently
At my door
A faint whisper
Beckons me
Always, always
To that which is true.
I hear his call
Even though I travel far
It is the light
Which guides my footsteps
The beat
To which I dance
The robe
Which clothes me
In the dark of night.

The sirens
Sing not so sweet a song
As my lover's glance.
His eyes shine
Like a sun-kissed petal
In the morning dew.
He plays my love
With a gossamer lute-
Heavenly chords
And sublime incantations.

He lays me open
Like a book,
Skimming my pages
In search of stories
Yet to be told.
Secrets dance on his fingertips
Bewitching my every breath
Until, until
The words escape like fire
Through my skin.

And then,
He turns to go,
Leaving me bare
And clothed.
And filled.
And open.
And nothing.

How terribly perfect.

tall penguin

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