Come to me tonight,
And I will write you a poem
To carry with you
In your body,
On your skin.
My fingers will write it
On the palm of your hand,
My lips shall speak to your lips
in silent verse,
My eyes
Will show you the seat of love
From which all poetry comes
And in my voice
You will hear the sound of my soul
Singing your name
In words that come to you
As starlight,
Sweet wind through the trees,
The brush of grass,
The sound of your feet.
Adam Byrn Tritt 
Gem
December 6, 2011 at 11:45 PM
I like… a lot