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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