Saturday, October 25, 2008

Morning's glory

What is my awakening – Except the gentleness of rising light
Silently caressing the contours of her face.
That my renaissance is set aglow by a thinly veiled flame
shimmering softly ‘neath the shroud of my sheets.
The line of her hip, the length of her thigh, her shoulder bare
and draped quietly with the remnants of the moon.
Thus the gentle radiance within her dawn is the luminosity of my own epiphanyawakening not only my heart - But my soul.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

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