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The Altar of Your Love
I see your face,
a keen imprint in the fog of my longing.
The world dissolved into dissonance,
hard edges sharpened by the heat of you.
I reach for you,
not with hands,
but with the kind of inferno
that licks at the walls of the soul.
Love me—just enough
to stop the senselessness—
to make real of the rush
I drown in every time you
look my way.
Shelter me like the flame I’ve become,
smoldering, slipping—
searching for absolution
in the quiet violence of your arms.
Give me something.
Not the world.
Not the stars.
Only proof that I am more
than a dream at the altar
of your love.
Copyright ©
Laura Breidenthal
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