Gosh you’re beautiful to 
Me most mornings I
Think that I’m waking
Up in the studio
Of Michelangelo or Rodin
On some divan staring
At his latest model
I run my hand
Across your obsidian flank
Tracing like a child
Staying within the lines
Over and down like
A sled filled with
Curiosity only to land
Amidst the trees of
Eyelashes which shake and
Drop their own sleepiness
Finally lips meeting mine
Tasting the cool crispness
Of my Alpine stream

2 thoughts on “Gosh

Comments are closed.