gryphons_quill: (Default)

In our darkness here, my senses sing
drunk on sweetness and replete with wine.
Like crystal lightly struck our bodies ring.
I'll learn to share in every song you sing--
a love unplanned.

I sometimes can't believe you could be mine.
I stroke your hair, strand by silken strand
and bow to taste the flesh I've made a shrine.
Without possessing you I've made you mine,
without a word.

I can feel your skin beneath my hand,
strong and delicate as a trembling bird.
I wish that we could soar and never land,
as, shivering, you rise to meet my hand--
love on the wing.

There's no more perfect sound I've ever heard
than your breath drawn in soft and shuddering.
I see you're luminous, though my vision's blurred;
love is an inner light, or so I've heard.
With me, you shine.

I'll take your hand and, pressing it with mine,
I'll sing of passion in music never heard.
Love on the wing and without a word;
a love unplanned, but with me you shine.

gryphons_quill: (Default)

As evening's folding curtain yields to night,
she sits beside me, soft beneath my hand,
unbridled laughter ringing with delight.
She beams in darkness, fire in the night.
I fade; she glows.

I sometimes dream of my far-distant land,
a place where time is waylaid as it flows
and sunlight softly kisses stone and sand.
I wish that I could soar and never land.
But here I stay.

She rarely dreams, I think, of what she chose--
to never taste the magic of a day
lived far away from creeping mundane woes.
This life's a shadow, nothing that I chose.
I crave the light.

She has possessed me, molded me like clay,
my sculpted body fired a vivid white,
my brilliance bleached to captive lifeless grey.
I fear I'll never see my native clay.
This wasn't planned.

I chose her once, her fire in the night.
The weight of clay has trapped me in her land,
so here I stay, although this wasn't planned.
I fade; she glows; and still I crave the light.

gryphons_quill: (Default)

Our land is green and fragrant as the dew
that glistens in the dove-grey light of dawn,
where sunlight pools as day begins anew,
caresses every hilltop, lights upon
your upward-tilted face, the lines of you
as clear and clean as any newly drawn.
A living piece of art.

On winds and wings that sing the swallows dart
and trembling dawn gives way to breaking day.
The light is living now, a thing apart,
as vibrant as the land, as soft as clay;
the beating earth is red. So is my heart,
given to my love so fair and fey,
and ringing with the sun.

The daylight lingers long; as rivers run
lightly through the crevices of land,
just so I trace your burning skin, fine-spun
as courtly linen, golden as salt sand.
I could seek for softness yet find none
near half as strong and tender as your hand.
You touch my very core.

The gloaming-tide that creeps along the shore
brings magic, not arcane but simply this:
your sun-bright touch bestowed remembered lore;
now lips remind me of forgotten bliss.
In the mythic edge of evening, I adore
discovering the sweetness of your kiss.
I thank you for this boon.

In darkness lit to silver by the moon
that, crescent-sharp, will rise to kiss the skies
and tease a touch of magic from the dune
that cradles us and catches whispered cries,
I hope to learn a shared and sacred tune
from my reflection dancing in your eyes.
Time is winding on; each day begins anew,
and still I sing my song for love of you.


gryphons_quill: (Default)

December 2010

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