The transparency of your body,
resting on freshly pressed linen.
The purple network of life,
the delicacy of your skin like tissue paper,
cold to my touch.
My Sapphire, spiritual being,
we are just angels lost in this world.
With my lips tracing the path of your veins
and my fingers running circles around your chest.
Glacial lips pressed against crisp, algid lips,
your aureole shining through your pallid skin,
your radiance, the only thing that saved me
from falling into the same old pattern of doubt.
Fly away with me to a wintry place
where we can sing songs of hope
and dance in the mountains of frost.
S’envoler avec moi.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”