Anything Goes On a Sunday
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As I claim my own parcel of solitude
from yesterday's banging boom,
I see heaven expanding through you
in me: fireflies glow rare as Sunday’s bliss,
never mind if there is a call for patience
when holy hours rise upon the lines of your mouth;
resting on the ledge of a private oasis.
This I cannot enter... the night curfew drifts
gently and quietly yet full of love's spaces;
O the hush of your mouth tender as harp's rhythm
I want to kiss.
My parcel of quietude becomes yours
while we listen to the same monastic silence,
gazing at clouds alone and together
until we rest lovingly inside our gentle, holy world.
Into near midnight with eyes closed, we slumber and then...
John Hamilton's Your Best Free Verse Love Poem--2
2/19/2017
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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