there is a joy
when I pick up
the book of your life
and open it
to read a page
in silent reverie,
where words
become stories,
where spaces
become pauses,
where memories
become new arrivals,
crying out to be held
against the softness
of my palms,
where lines
become the web
of our one entangled,
sacred existence.
when I pick up
the book of your life
and open it
to read a page
in silent reverie,
where words
become stories,
where spaces
become pauses,
where memories
become new arrivals,
crying out to be held
against the softness
of my palms,
where lines
become the web
of our one entangled,
sacred existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Do you have a question, thought or comment? Please share them with me....