Just another poem, don't mind me.
The Holy
It's dawn; daylight leaks in through the drawn drapes,
And as you wrap your arm around my whittled waist
I pretend to be sleeping, prisoner to dreamscapes,
To prevent your pending departure from haste.
Yet still you place your soft lips upon my face,
Killing my will as my coma comes to close;
Soon this moment will cease; simply be erased,
Replaced by the hark of holiness and haloes.
We'll sit silently, holding hands in the pews
While His words wash away a week's worth of sin;
But when you lean in and whisper "I love you"
I can feel the breath of God against my skin.
I never considered I could so wholly
Be consumed by love; something so holy.
The Holy
It's dawn; daylight leaks in through the drawn drapes,
And as you wrap your arm around my whittled waist
I pretend to be sleeping, prisoner to dreamscapes,
To prevent your pending departure from haste.
Yet still you place your soft lips upon my face,
Killing my will as my coma comes to close;
Soon this moment will cease; simply be erased,
Replaced by the hark of holiness and haloes.
We'll sit silently, holding hands in the pews
While His words wash away a week's worth of sin;
But when you lean in and whisper "I love you"
I can feel the breath of God against my skin.
I never considered I could so wholly
Be consumed by love; something so holy.