H.R.Powell

The prettiest girl on an island full of flowers

He talks to me like that

Like I am the sun on a cold day

Not worship

But profound admiration

Thankful for my presence

A relief

 

I am not used to his praises

He is the first to offer them

I want to give back to him what he gives me

But I don’t know how

How do I return the affection

Which is so new?

 

I crave his presence

I miss the cool wind he brings

To my sun beaten skin

To sit with him

To rest with him

Nothing to prove