With motives dark
a touch so delicate
your words inflict bruising with such eloquence.
You who peals the bells that resonate beneath my skin
whose warm praise wraps round my heart
rice paper thin.
In you the landscape of my desire is written
scrawled in your hand.
Each shift of weight, each ripple
The shuddering ones and the quiet.
As I retreat, freefalling head first into fantasy
or lunge forward, with scant regard into life unbridled
You have been the anchor.
That which keeps me moored.
Though tides and wakes relentless break upon my shores
and swirl forebodingly around the sun
it’s this desire for you that crests
forever out of reach
but always in my view.