This Love...
This love of which I dream, covetous
Of waking hours and the sweet knell of tangled sleep;
Criss-crosses swords upon my ribs,
Carve symbols aphrodisiac into my flesh so deep.
That I can only pray in sighs, the
Sharp, sweet hiss of seraphim breath intake;
Of citric juice and sugared salt,
Burst taste of the passionate for heaven's sake.
Yet fear of loss imposes shadows
On the bright and breezy canvas of thought,
This love forever wished, yet grows
In distance for time flails ever short...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment