Her

Her touch makes the warmth
from my head space escape,
not much to be warned
of, with her I am safe.
Her hair in the wind
as she gallops equine,
it’s fair that within
my heart, she is mine.
Those bows bobbed as pins
that sit next to her ties,
those lips above chin
of hers, faith redefined.

There’s much to be warmed,
my cold head seems misplaced,
how must I reform
for her, love’s commonplace.
This mind’s always running
yet she runs the race,
to reach milk and honey,
she hands me a taste.

Her

Slirschhh

Joined August 2009

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