Arms that wrap about your waist.
Fingers that pull against your lace.
Teeth that tug on your lips.
Skin that burns hot, fevered by electric sparks,
as addicting as dreams.
But there's a truth that shows
In the fire of our souls
That can only be told,
Only made known
In the voices upon the bed sheets that
rumple and fold
beneath our enamored and ardent action.
The axiom revealed betwixt is this.
There's no cold
within this sweet, sweet heaven.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Arms that wrap about your waist.
Fingers that pull against your lace.
Teeth that tug on your lips.
Skin that burns hot, fevered by electric sparks,
as addicting as dreams.
But there's a truth that shows
In the fire of our souls
That can only be told,
Only made known
In the voices upon the bed sheets that
rumple and fold
beneath our enamored and ardent action.
The axiom revealed betwixt is this.
There's no cold
within this sweet, sweet heaven.
