I have surrendered many a darker sunrise
in my weakness—
your instructions never fail to arouse
the rising stems,
stretching out wherever you are,
whatever your weather.
I look upon you as a paragon of eros,
the way your lips shape my name
the pull of the commands of servitude—
sometimes there are no words left,
only beams of light
and softer sighs; is this something you can live without?
Photo credits: Colley Whisson Artwork, Pinterest
Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United