They seem so sure, my hands
As they roam this beautiful body of yours
Which houses such an infinite soul
They seek to touch
To know the fullness of you
To integrate self to self
To heal, to soothe
Connect one piece of self to the next
They seek, as a mother touches
Each tiny toe on her new child’s foot
To touch each part of you
Ensure you’re whole
That the world has not torn you asunder
Since last we met.
I am awash with wonder at your very existence.
11/26/05
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, \ Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit \ Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, \ Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it. ~~71, Rubainat of Omar Khannam
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2025 10 03 - It's a Con, I tell you!
AGAIN a number of years have flown by, slick as a whistle. But it's Con time again, and that made me think of this. Here. Words here tha...
-
I want to see you naked: without your hat, without wristbands, without the invisible protections you wall your soul with to survive. The res...
-
Grief washes over me like waves on the ocean A salty mist dries on my cheeks And I hear cries like seagulls' resounding in my skull As t...
-
It was erie this morning. Early morning mist obscured the trees in front of me as I sat at a stoplight. Brilliant ruby red, piercing in it...
No comments:
Post a Comment