What did these hands do before they held your hand..
They must have been resting idly;
waiting for that perfect fit, the perfect span
that leaves my heart beating wildly.

What did these lips do before they got lost in your lips..
They must have remained sealed, and grim;
waiting for you to drink my soul in measured sips,
from a chalice eternally filled to the brim.

What did these eyes do before they beheld your eyes..
They must have gazed into total darkness;
waiting for a light from emerald skies,
to obliterate the utter starkness.

What did my mornings consist of
before I woke up next to you..
your tousled hair and your dreamy eyes,
your arms around me,
my legs between your steel-hard thighs.

What did my time consist of
before I spent it in your presence..
For now ~ during the times you are away,
I linger in your essence.

You weave your stories like the night,
stringing the moon with the stars;
the finest of pristine pearls,
threaded by twilight.

Weaving the finest Varanasi silk
with life as your celestial loom;
laying down gold- and silver-threaded brocade,
dormant gardens burst in bloom.

Your pen is the philosopher’s stone
turning lead hearts into gold;
manipulating structure in stunning stanzas,
inscribing on hearts in italics and bold.

Nodding in acquiescence
the sages of the ages,
will then add your magnum opus
to their papyraceous pages.

One day,
I will tire of waiting for you
to love me ~

You will lean back
and fall
finding I am not there to support you

You will turn around
and see the nothingness I have become
having given my all to you

Forgive Me.