Un done


I’d like to paint your picture

but my clumsy fingers would do no justice

to your complexion

Inspiring are those eyes which I

chance upon a gaze

a touch

a breath.

A single finger to which I cannot resist

my heart will twist and tumble beneath it’s burrow

a fall too far to burden, to bear

to lose.

Lost in imaginations of your coat tails

and coffee stains, your bedside book

and the way you look at me.

The smell of your tongue

and the taste of your ear.

To all this I am wax to a wick.

There are times I long to see what is written

on the other side of the page,

but I have many sentences to take in

before I will understand

the context

of love.

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