Poetic Heaven
In principles of love,
there is no perfection -
it is not your master,
nor are you its slave.
In my poetic heaven,
muse needs no inspiration.
Cradled in my beloved's arms -
her embrace gentle and warm,
her petal like skin, tender and aromatic.
Her nature calms my childhood sorrows,
as all fears disappear.
This could be my final resting place.
Soothed by her angelic fingertips,
heavy head heals, resting softly, upon her chest,
listening to my name echo from her heart -
each beat creates a rhythm of romantic chants.
In the deepness of her eyes,
I can see the doorway to my soul.
Lyrics to a poem not heard before.
As our lips merge,
through the connection of breaths,
we create poetry without words.
There is an art to love, sadly not all are artists,
so seek the one who inspires your palette.
Simple Musing
Silent One
4 November 2020
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