20 August 2016

For Only Me

It is always joy. 
I see his face and I am glowing, aching from not having smiled in joy for so long. 

For a time, I can be lost, naked, and burning, 
wrapped in the softness of his words; 
I am deaf to all else but the tenderness of 
that touch. 

A poem, made for me. 
Made for only me.

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