Hold my hands through the forges
don’t let me fall.
And if I must fall,
let it be deeper into love.
Grace my bed with your warm skin.
Let your holy shape leave an outline in the sheets.
Spread your presence through the room.
Place your soft lips at my ear,
whisper healing through my spine
soft, slow,
like rain on aching ground.
Grace my bed, oh my love.
Let’s wine through the night,
toast to merry,
bodies spinning like ceiling fans,
with pauses in between
to breathe,
to hold,
to still ourselves
until the candle dies.
Written by
Mykell Writes
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