My diadem, a sovereign crown,
does on your gentle fist lie down
Amidst your fingered palm, affixed,
the beating of a holy sound.
Though betwixt a dormant grip
my heart fears not a fatal slip:
the pacifism of our tenderness
a guard against that wilderness.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 8:36 PM UTC
My diadem, a sovereign crown,
does on your gentle fist lie down
Amidst your fingered palm, affixed,
the beating of a holy sound.
Though betwixt a dormant grip
my heart fears not a fatal slip:
the pacifism of our tenderness
a guard against that wilderness.
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