Yorke

Your Beautiful

Beauty, in my eye, yet I do not hold you.
Every curve, every contour, every everything.
A desire in me, exceeding a need for breath.
Undressing my soul with her very existence.
That I could clothe myself in her wake,
Immerse this broken in her healing.
Fate has me in other unions, futile, desolate.
Unrooted in fertile lands, I am nothing.
Lifted by your beautiful, I am everything.