once in a while the crackpot hopeless romantic in me pops out the box.
the last time this happened, before now, i wrote this.
--
The trauma and bliss
Her kisses
like violent waves
pound at me.
like a symphony of sounds
her lips strum
melodies on mine.
to the subliminal beat
of everyday life
her touch is the rhythm
and her kiss is the rhyme.
And every minute
after she is mine,
I will labour to manifest
that moment
and harvest it
into a line.
©
Namaste
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