Minutes go by and turn to weeks,
as the night and day cycle is known to me
only by the light slipping between the curtains.
Tracing the lines of her face to the ridge of her spine,
I've found a haven under these sheets
and heaven hidden in plain sight on her lips.
Her invitation I could never refuse.
She wears it on her face as her innocence,
beckoning me to explore behind eyes or between thighs.
I was warned I could be lost here forever.
Deep in the folds of everything she stands for,
everything she's shown me on bare skin.
Because on the first night a bird called twice,
once for the beginning of love,
and again for the end of time.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
Minutes go by and turn to weeks,
as the night and day cycle is known to me
only by the light slipping between the curtains.
Tracing the lines of her face to the ridge of her spine,
I've found a haven under these sheets
and heaven hidden in plain sight on her lips.
Her invitation I could never refuse.
She wears it on her face as her innocence,
beckoning me to explore behind eyes or between thighs.
I was warned I could be lost here forever.
Deep in the folds of everything she stands for,
everything she's shown me on bare skin.
Because on the first night a bird called twice,
once for the beginning of love,
and again for the end of time.
