Saturday, August 17, 2013
I want the slow path of your eyes To trace the wear of time and brutality on my body, anxiously, Followed by your lips. I want you to speak my unspoken Sorrow, quietly Against my mouth, pressing Softly and urgently, imprinting shared impact and effect, Whispering. I want the soft tip of questioning to salve the sleeplessness beneath my waking gaze, And melt the years into Unnecessary perfection, loving the developed shell, and the Cognizant sigh. I want my Risen Phoenix, speaking Of marvels and moments, head resting gently on my thigh, to sleep and moan, and sleep and moan, Rejecting the steady slumber of Death, for Euphoric Love's tortuous theft of Precious stolen Time, glad of Fitful nodding, and mocking the glass pigeon like a defiant Falcon, covering his Beloved.