minutes with your lips
have become a slow-motion saga
that hours in my hands
have transformed into poetic explosion
thundering through a consumptive
manifest of formless surrender

were there no waves of grace
we’d not find depth in our words
were there no distortion of pain
we’d not need to memorize
the bliss that broke the dam
in the eyes of the other

were there no fire in our touch
we’d not find passion in our flames
were there no gift of eternity
we’d not need to caress
the hourglass
filled with our sweetness

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.