Monday, December 1, 2014

Candles

Candles flicker 
Clothes piled on the floor
Gathering aroma
Of life and love

Kisses along tummy lines
Teasing
Rising 
Toward the feather touch.

Time standing still
Love for itself
With itself
No future
No past
No agendas

Struggling as one
Until, exhausted
We sleep. 

2 comments:

  1. I was already all caught up in this, and then the part about agendas sold the deal, in total.
    Really nice poem, Sir.

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