Your thought,
A wisp of finely crocheted lace,
A whiff of subtle
perfume,
Barely there,
But, consuming me
In its entirety
Your presence
A warm breath
Fanning my senses,
Making me lose myself
In its wholesomeness
Your love,
Like a swig of sweet vintage wine
intoxicating my senses, and
rendering each feeling
surrealistic and sublime
Your love,
Like a swig of sweet vintage wine
intoxicating my senses, and
rendering each feeling
surrealistic and sublime
2 comments:
This losing of the self is like the dissolved sugar which stops staying as a separate entity rather exists in sweetness ... engrossing !
beautiful words.. thanks :)
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