I love.

The radiant sweetness

of distilled, love-drenched

sweat.

The feel of yours becoming mine

as hyperventilating souls are one.

I see a feather.

One of a bird seeking freedom

in the wide open pupils of

You.

Freedom; the absolute

trust and eternal feel

of shackles undone.

I know not what love is.

‘Tis a presumed notion of an emotion.

A word binds the feeling within,

in exile to it’s singular delineation,

but I

I wish to feel the entirity

of all,

Within the gently carved

Marble stone of

your soul.

I am a tourist

A bypasser admiring

Renaissance, statuesque

Beauty

Knowing I can never own

Such a masterpiece.

I gaze in worship.

The masterpiece is you.