Each week I yearn it to end
To envelope me in a warm embrace
To reach the frost-bitten Friday afternoon at ten
And end the tireless rat-race
I lay in company due the mornings
On the third floor in December
Laying still and full of idolatry
Nevermore the cold casing of bitter slumber
Awaiting cosmic arms to entrap me
Forbearing pecks of light and solitude
As your golden presence grows enticingly
Brightening our everlasting and glowing demise
© A U B A D E | MAEBONOCH
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PoetryFor Toby, who makes every day feel like I'm in Heaven. DO NOT REPOST/EDIT/COPY/USE - All poems are written by me so please don't plagiarise, especially as they are written for a special person in my life. © A U B A D E | SOFIE BAXTER Graphic created...
