QUIET LOVE
Last night in the quiet hours
When even the moon seemed to doze
As she drifted with silken robes
Trailing across the sky,
My loves leg brushed mine-
Soft warm skin.
Even in deepest sleep she sought me
And sighed.
Mother Moon bathed her
With gentle silver light
Flowing through the panes
As she lay before me: nude.
I gazed in silent awe
At this wonder, this miracle,
Who loved me,
Who loved my wounded soul.
Ohhh, your poem is beautiful.
It is an ethereal presence, like those days when the magic of love is present.
I loved reading you.
Enjoy a happy day @mistermercury.
Thanks for the kind remark. I'm grateful you enjoyed it. I've much more coming. Invite you to follow and participate. Blessings.
Is this an entry to the Steemhive Valentine Poetry contest? I thought the entry should have eight stanzas. Nevertheless, the poem is well-written. I love how all the words seem magical; and how they complement each other. Also, the flow of the story runs so natural (wasn't forced). So I appreciated the poem. I hope you win.
I must have misread the rules. I thought it said, "not more than 8 stanzas..." I'll go look. Thanks for your kind comments. Oh and I visited your blog. Good luck to you here on steemit. And God bless you as you endure the kidney challenge. I've had a 20 -year-long disease of the adrenal glands along with heavy metal poisoning. I know, at least a little, what it's like. Blessings on your head my friend.
Thank you so much. See you around on steemit.
Oops! I'm the one who misread the rules. The rule was not to exceed 8 stanzas so yours is cool
OMG Dad, where do you come up with this stuff! Seriously.
"It's all nude women in my life that does it" made me laughing so hard hahahahaha
DANG! You are one of the few that bothers to read comments not your own. Blessings my friend.
Hahaha. Which makes steeming more awesome, right?
Its all the nude women in my life that does it. Inspired.
Har de har.
Actually, there is an etherial reservoir of genius of all sorts (music, art, speech, poetry, math, etc.) that we have access too. Sometimes these poems just come. All I am is a watchful recipient, though sometimes I begin to think it is me. I guess it is me in so much that I am a conduit.
DANG! You are one of the few that bothers to read comments not your own. Blessings my friend.