Though there are those who would not name you Beautiful,
I am bound by Truth to disagree.
For your form is eloquence, spoken into being by some
Blessed Goddess who has achieved a sculpture
Of such magnificence it would be impossible to capture once again
And do it justice as you already are
In your own masculine form.
Your eyes dance in the light as well as the darkness,
Glimmering love and laughter and the solemn hope
That tomorrow will be better, it must be;
For it is tomorrow, a time yet to come
And tomorrows are always better than
The days of our forlorn past.
Your voice, though rough at its own chosen times
Does wonders for my own insecurities.
Comfort, reassurance, joy, all are spoken in one word;
The word I find to be my name, slipping from your tongue
To dance upon the winds until it slowly
Glides, like a floating dove, into my welcoming ear.
Your scent is that of a God touching this Earth,
Beautiful and dangerous,
Easily breaking an already ruptured soul
That only wishes to obtain your loving mercy
To be my salvation from such killing love
That seeks to destroy me from bone to precious bone.
Your touch is like that of an angel's
Or knight's might be to a child or his gentle lady
Upon release of their poor soul's tears.
Kindness radiates from your fingertips and
Sweet love from your very being,
Emptying itself into my soul, which is left yearning
For you in all of your exquisite glory,
That I might be fulfilled in you.
 
Copyright © daerkroses, All Rights Reserved