The Peace of the World

I cannot help but love
The delicate whorls that have been etched
Into your skin, the texture of raised scar tissue.
Each turn a sentence spoken
For ears that hear the tactile sound:
They drink the draught deeply,
Not fearing to take the poison with the delight.
For you are life and a laugh on the lips of the lover;
You are the quiet peace of solitude in an occupied room.
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh,
I am truly alone when I am alone with you.

No comments:

Post a Comment