Sunday, March 8, 2009
Thus approaches the quiet storm –
As we let the sun set silently behind us I hold you.
Your hair caresses my face gently with the tempests unspoken advance
that the air is filled with the scent of your soul and the sea.
Tacit waves harbinger a calm that rolls in kissing your feet as serenely
that settling into my arms we look across an ocean
reckless with what was our heart’s
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009