Oh My Love.....
My lover speaks to me
in the still quiet of this room...
"Come."
His voice is soft and eloquent.
His touch like a whisper...
His fragrance sweet and manly
like flowering Wisteria on the vine.
Oh, My Love...
Let me bathe in the warmth of
Your touch...
Let me breath in your very essence.
Your tenderness is more than I can stand.
Your very words
caress the coldness of my heart
and I am lost in the warmth of your fire.
tlh 9/4/6 (c)
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
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