Tuesday, January 19, 2010

God has not said a Word.

Steal for me that secret face
I'll steal it myself
with my moonlit fingers in the night
whisper soft across your sleeping skin
and quick as a kiss its gone
slipped from the faint line your golden hair makes
all the way down past the curve of your jaw
and then off
to be held up in the mirror
a favored prize to be gloated over
my gold tipped nails flashing against the pearly glow
and you sleeping on unknowing
I'll fold it up and tuck it away
in the back of my drawer with the silvered lock
Pull it out in the long afternoon
when the sun stretches lazily across the door
like an old lover sure of his welcome
and the yard looks bleak and grey
under the unscattered dust
and remember the shock of seeing it there
your secret face so open
and the sudden joy in theft to hide it away

So this is how I'll remember you
this secret face in my stolen hoard
you sleeping with the storm outside
and naught but peace within
O Porphyria how silently you slipped away.

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