To the soles of her marred and bruised feet, I kneel and trace my lips on the edges of her skin. Her love a prophecy I carry, and her body the grail I worship.
My love, my saviour.
My egress from this verity, my paraprosexia of reality.
To her, I acquiesce with doubts a foreign language unheard of.
The universe the frame and the world a canvas to hold her. She, my apricity. My religion.
She, the subject of my hymns and she, my utopia made of dreams.
My saviour, the devotion my worships, my entire being engulfed in this trance of love.
-Eros
YOU ARE READING
The Hymns of Anteros
PoesíaPoetry muddled and marred by worldly reveries. A kalopia the fingers of your soul couldn't reach.
