His hands find me in the darkness
and read me like Poetry,
gentle brushing across my skin
like the fluttering of angel wings
Painting me
sculpting me
He feeds my hunger
releases me from want
eats away my need
I can feel his eyes study me
quiet in the night
I am his novel
he devours my words
silent and yearning
tragic and still
gentle breathing
tiny kisses
that raid my inner core
stripping me free
of hate, of pain
of minor misconceptions
I am reborn, unearthed
forever a work of art
within his embrace...

12/30/2001

Posted on 12/30/2001
Copyright © 2024 Britt Zimmerman