Tressels

So is my fixation -
A rose wild of tresses tumbling
with enchanted wilderness.
That it cascades softly ‘pon the crescent
of her shoulder’s moon.
Gathering gently in the cradle of her neck
could that I only inter my face
in such delicate scent,
might that I find my atonement
as I abandon my
- Heart

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008