Wednesday, October 15, 2014


That touch of your words,
light tune played on my
skin, raising the hairs,
tingling through flesh,

caressing, in songs which
are felt, not heard; never
written, or played with an
instrument, beyond your

voice, strumming as it
does, the chords of your
heart, and calling for mine
to sing in rhythm, deep in

the bowels of soul, as music
in love’s bright, abundant
spheres, where eternity can
raise its hymn in endless,

harmonious, rich echoes;
does rise in steady beat,
rippling across the years,
as our precious symphony.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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