Drawn to the pull of possibility
I am at war with resistance,
desperate allure of words becoming flesh,
the tender momentum of hands
on taut shoulders gently pressing
tangled boughs of willowy knots
under a black spell night
powerless to undo.
Your eyes are kindle for my own
igniting the perfect fire.
In the calm of dawn I am a periwinkle
at your pillow, pale petals of desire
bending to what is golden.
innocensedawn at pinterest