A hand reaches out,
Strokes my face,
closes my eyes,
forcing me to peer
in to the black
depths of my being.
It's a gentle touch,
steady and reassuring.
Strong fingers
brush my lips,
lift my chin,
stroke my hair.
I fight the urge
to kiss the source
of this sweet torment.
to taste the core
of this man.
To feel his depths, his soul.
Instead I peer into
his warm ice eyes,
warm with caring
and dare I say love,
but still ice,
frozen, unrevealing.
What I wouldn't give
to live in the soul
of this man.
To never be without
his touch or scent.
To fall asleep
safe, secure, and warm,
his arms, his love,
my blanket.
What deaths I would die
just to be granted
one brief moment in time
To feel his soft lips on mine,
his arms envelope me,
and his eyes trapping me
in their ice,
hiding me from
the life I can't control.
He is a seeker of souls,
a reader of minds.
A spirit guide and
mystic advisor.
But one day by the
grace of god
will he be my lover.
--By Jamie Erdman aka Poetsoul