The light, golden, made you a portrait.
Your hair framed your eyes
and I am captive of your beauty - at
ease with itself.
Hunching over your book,
Your profile turns even more seductive.
Others obscure my sight, and I squirm
to see. To see you read with elegance;
you, who will not fade.
You're clothed in a deep
blue. Like royalty? And, as you sit
and read, I wonder: whose words do you honor?
Inviting them into your dwelling - the chamber of your soul.
Slowly, I rise and walk out - with one last look,
in solitude asking, will this be the last?
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
The light, golden, made you a portrait.
Your hair framed your eyes
and I am captive of your beauty - at
ease with itself.
Hunching over your book,
Your profile turns even more seductive.
Others obscure my sight, and I squirm
to see. To see you read with elegance;
you, who will not fade.
You're clothed in a deep
blue. Like royalty? And, as you sit
and read, I wonder: whose words do you honor?
Inviting them into your dwelling - the chamber of your soul.
Slowly, I rise and walk out - with one last look,
in solitude asking, will this be the last?
