purest love rising in the ridges
of the softest fiery flesh,
pursed so slightly to suck slowly
the aching wound sounds from
a forever sunlit skin,
and embrace the collateral
damage of our world, fueling the
ashes in our hands of understanding
in a shining wordless kiss.
here, even bliss has no ground.
between my two, god extends
his mighty biceps, to – with naught
but grace – hammer softly the
chisel which cuts away dry
flaking pieces of past and
lust, and the marble smoke
clears to drown me in the
warmth of lips that eat
tranquility and squeeze trust
as if it were a dirty rag, dripping
tears onto ostrich wings
folded side by side in rapture.
time doesn’t fade – it becomes
all the more precious. glowing
grey, green, blue gazing forever into a
light-infested cobalt ocean.
an ocean casting its own spotlight
as she strums from the dark into
the heart of the world.
the soothing truth of simplicity
that begs to sing down mountains
like we have infinity.
countdowns cease, and like
these (likely) eternal hands,
counts more forward.
counts move forward,
widening, stretching, breaking
into a smile that gives god
a chance to rest and admire
his work.
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