More or Less

I feel her presence,

like a far off distant storm,

blowing across cool green plains,

capturing all within its path,

as I try to run

but cannot,

for she will not be denied;

and I cannot refuse;

if her body were the words to a poem,

they would be the most beautiful

words ever created,

if her soul were a bottle of wine,

it would be the sweetest wine

ever tasted,

she fills a part of me

that has cried out to be filled

from the beginning of time,

as I allow her to enter places

that no other has ever entered;

it is not that I love one less,

it is only that I love one more;

and for this I shall live,

for this I shall die,

for this I shall hide within myself

where none can see,

that which is best left unsaid,

meeting somewhere just beyond tomorrow,

in the space of a dream

which is without beginning or end.

.

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