beauty, love, poetry, women

A gossamer weight

Your gossamer wings

Shimmer against the kitchen tiles

Busy, busy, busy

Taking delight in the simplest things

For all my words

In odes to passion

Surrender, the sweet, dark polarity

Of my beast to your beauty

It is the rippling of light upon water

Which draws my eye to you

How tender, how wounded you are

And how you rise above the dark gravity

Of your anxieties

The slick pull of a guilt which reaches into everything

I love as a conscious act, weighing the depth of

Your soul’s deeds

Never find you wanting

Even when such wounds and pulls

Wound and pull at me

My armour bears the scars

With pride

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