Fulfilled

It is never what we expect to see
But what shows up when we do not

Where weeping angels call to you
In your slumber the angels fall to you

Eviscerating the shadows
Colorful dreams allow vibrant imagery

Whispers in the dark leave me searching
For the hard heat I know is there

A searing inferno from deep within
My pink crevices crave stimulation

Fingers begin unraveling
Eager to weave perfection

1 comment:

cjn said...

Darkness makes it easy to escape into such a succulent moment. When the imperfections don't matter and only the moment does. I love the way you worked this poem into something so beautiful.