The smallest

That the tiniest hair,

or wrinkle,

blemish or vein,

turn into

 

a symphony,

glorious in its praise.

 

Within a darkened ring,

under the waves of your lid,

a billowing of colours;

deep water green,

and sunlight

 

yellow,

sparkling with each flash

of conciousness,

shining into me,

through layers

of smiles.

 

That the corner of a mouth,

curve of a lobe,

bright line at your temple

fills me with such

raging tenderness,

 

leaves me in

 

thoughtless wonder.

 

And then, finally,

the clamour fades

as, mouth to mouth,

we lose our way

 

together.

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One thought on “The smallest

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