She can
brush the pain away with her finger tips,
and I am not cold
Oh, heavy me
against her,
and her heart beats soundly
like a drum,
like a march
in heaven.
When I wake,
she is not a dream,
she is just as warm and soft
as I remember.
Her voice like flutes-
her eyes
gazing patiently like the sky
as blue as oceans-
and I want to hold her til the end of time.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem