Lifelines.

 

Lifelines.

 

 

 

The movement of light that is your casual palm

tracing through the bubbling thoughts

and golden hair.

Breathing in the line where the sun meets your face.

You are a poem manifest

and I want nothing more than to watch you breathe.

The lingering taste of coffee beans on your lips

you have become the equation

of my deepest exhale.

I kiss your sleeping eyelids

and follow their gaze to the softness of your chest.

I want nothing other than this place.

Death is but a blurred line between art and faith.

I know of the subtle rumbling of clouds

and write your name in the space where God herself has danced.

I long to walk my index finger

across the lifelines on your hands.

Your language my diary,

your laugh, an answer to my prayer

I twirl ribbons in circles to mark this space.

The rich caramel of your back

uncrumpled paper

and on it I write, “Will you stay?”.

The smile that has become the world in which I live,

is beyond any answer I need.

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