I crave the permanence of things
the curl of your neck
the creases of your soul
your lips on mine.
I crave the passage of time
the tide against the shore
the whistle of the wind
the random drops of rain that fall
the amethyst of the sky.
Life would be sublime
if you could meet me
where flesh touches bone
where hearth thaws the home
where night follows day
and poetry gently stirs
and stalks the mind and the soul.
© Connie Song 2024. All Rights Reserved.
