The head lays heavy
on the soft chest
with the calm beating heart.
And the palms caress the strands
of soft sun-bleached-to-blonde hair.
The pillows of the fingers
press kindly and lightly on the scalp
little elves running circles
at the base ot the tree trunk cuticle.
All is peace
and all is morning light.
Until

your pride tries to optimize
my persona, to suit your needs,
and if it doesn't, you criticize...
Yet, you're good enough...

your prejudice makes you
suspect even my good deeds,
and you demean me for them too....
Yet, you're good enough...

your control freakiness
makes you restrict me
even if i act right...
Yet, you're good enough...

your self centeredness
wants me to fit in the standards,
you define and ever-changing ...
Yet, you're good enough...

the veil of your hatred
doesn't let you see
my love and concern for you...
Yet, you're good enough...

Beyond the mystic
of
your love

Beauty strokes the rainbow
running down my beard
from
the
blushes
of
your grace,
into
the
inner sanctum
of
the
glory
that
rapture my face.
I
graze
in
the
sweet serenity
of
your
essence
whom
carries my soul.

Slain
I
am.

Beyond the mystic
of
your love.

Sprayed and galvanised
Ideas and thoughts, powered
The words fructify