What I remember most
are your delicate
fingers
creasing the edges,
folding and turning,
twisting and shaping
the everything of
anything you
touch
into all the different
creatures of
creation
until finally and at last,
I rest warm in your
empathetic palm,
panting and thumping,
dripping with your
immaculate essence.
I am almost as beautiful
and imaginative
as you.
Then, without warning,
with your angular jaw
and your intimate lines,
you release me
like a paper sparrow.
Today
in your absence
I am falling…
an unraveled leaflet,
wingless and helpless,
spinning and swirling
to the ground –
your diligent hands,
your careful expression
still folding and creasing
in your omnipotent
heaven.
Sigh.
You have to stop writing these beautiful love poems. My heart can’t take it.
No, don’t stop. I like becoming addicted to reading them. It’s much better than being addicted to chocolate – no weight gain, only heart swelling gain (okay, that was cheesy, but you get it). Keep ‘em coming please.
Wow. Now, you have gone and made me blush. Want to see?
I agree with Aidra. She said it better! “)
What’s this? You like love poems? Awe!
I love a lot of things. “)
I believe you