I recall the perfect firmness when your hands caressed my temple,
as they eased my vivid senses with the tenderness of your touch.
Your hands explored, a sacred book under well-read fingers,
Your eyes locked to my icons, I gaze upon their eternal life.
From your lips fell my name, the taste of sweet offerings upon my altar.
Your breaths betook my rooms, the songs of a sanctified muse.
Your scent filled my sanctum, gifts of lavenders, honeycomb, and vials of morning dew.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
