Soft pillows and scented sheets
of a love that only two know,
laughter that is incessant
and continues to grow.
Quiet whispers that with breath
pet another's skin,
sweat and erotica that the
most pure wouldnt call sin.
Mirrors only reflect that
of a true lover's eyes,
and joy is the only thing
responsible for one's cries.
Hands held while walking
through the winter's snowfall,
landing into love is the only
place one would ever fall--
and these things, to me, are the purpose of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment