sixteen

29 2 2
                                    

the smell of you lingers on my pillow, and if i could bottle it like a perfume
i would nane it after the glow in your eyes
a scent so heavenly,
each breath is a scared prayer
to the temple of your love.

i worship no god,
and i follow no holy script,
yet your hands could build a religion of which i would devote.

the pilgrimage to your heart
was the easiest journey ive taken.
like falling asleep embraced in familiarity,
the calm after the storm.

poems from the cottageWhere stories live. Discover now