Saturday, November 12, 2011

sonnet seven

love created you out of
reds, pure and unaltered,
and my arms will cradle you
like all vulnerable and fragile

things should be held,
away from the darkness and
within my being
where the spring of us

happens each time you
cling to the notion
of a lifetime – an eternity

of ceaseless beginnings, of
clouds filled with hope as
i seek and feel only you.

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