sleeping in sanctuary
"There’s no such thing as autobiography, there’s only art and lies"
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Dawn comes through the hazy window,
Morning's blue tempered by aged glass.
Beyond, cold air of early autumn seeps through.
In here, the warmth of you holds me;
In here, golden strands bring me summer rays;
The slow rise and fall of your gentle chest;
The in and out of your breath that I breathe;
These mornings are new, so new to us
Though they feel like the stirring of ages
In the way we entwine in one another.
September 25, 2007
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