"writing poetry, starts in my soul, flows through my heart, up to my head, then it's out of my hands"
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Loves Torpid Touch
-Loves Torpid Touch-
Waves of love, emanations in the air, the flowing streams of flaxen hair, this soak, of yellow fingered beams, slipped into a dream, lingers long within a kiss; The tidal constancy of bliss, drawn into an ebbing sea, the languorous lethargy, of loves torpid touch.