Your Beautiful

Yorke

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.

  • Author: Yorke (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 29th, 2015 15:49
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 24
  • Users favorite of this poem: WHIRLWIND
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